Growing
by TheOccasionalFanfic
Summary: PostDH (beware for spoilers!) Draco tries to make amends for his past. He starts with Hermione. DracoxHermione
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! First time writing (and publishing) a fanfic in about six or seven years - apologies if I'm a little rusty! Please r&r, I really appreciate all kinds of feedback and would love to know if you think I should continue with the story. Enjoy!

* * *

After the war was over, Hermione was really starting to appreciate the greenhouses.

The castle was still a mess, even though the war with Voldemort had finished at least three months ago. The Astronomy Tower was in ruins, there was still an enormous hole in the roof of the Great Hall and the dungeons had been completely flooded. The Death Eaters' spells had done more than just destroy the old castle she had come to love so well; they had permanently damaged it. McGonagall had told her that it looked as though some of the spell damage would be impossible to repair – or at least, take several years to fix. At that was only the building itself – half the castle's suits of armour had huddled in a corner outside the Room of Requirement and were refusing to come out until it was safe, and almost every portrait in Hogwarts would, at one time or another, end up shaking in its frame.

The greenhouses, however, were different.

They hadn't exactly escaped the damage – Greenhouses 4, 5 and 7 had all been completely destroyed – but they were a lot easier to fix. Professor Sprout had conjured up new ones and now she, Hermione and a handful of teachers and prefects were filling them up again at every spare chance they got.

Hermione sighed, breathing in the smell of wet earth and sitting back to admire her handiwork. She'd just finished planting a fresh row of Bubotubers. The small, pulsating seeds smelled awful and felt strangely slippery as she'd shoved them into the earth, leaving slimy trails all across her dragon-hide gloves. But they were planted now, and in a month or two they'd be fully grown and ready for Professor Sprout to inflict on the fourth years.

Hermione had rather more spare chances than she was used to, these days. Harry and Ron hadn't come back for their seventh year and complete their education, a fact which never failed to surprise her. They were both training as Aurors after Kingsley Shacklebolt – the newly appointed Minister for Magic – had deemed fighting Voldemort 'an acceptable start to becoming an Auror'. It was more than 'acceptable', in Hermione's opinion, but all the same she couldn't quite bring herself to accept their decision to skip their NEWTs and go straight into work.

It just seemed so…careless.

But without Harry and Ron to get her into trouble, she had a lot more free time than she was used to. Most of the other seventh years had either graduated last year or gone straight into work, and even though she wasn't exactly alone – she still had Ginny, after all – there were a lot more silences to fill.

So she made herself useful, and filled the silences with work. Professor Sprout always needed another pair of hands, and now that Neville had left to go and study the Peruvian Devil's Snare she was one of the only students who could help out.

The Greenhouse door creaked open and Hermione sighed. Her time was up. She'd asked one of the Gryffindor prefects – a curly-haired boy named Lysander – to come and get her after an hour. She was Head Girl now, and she couldn't spend all evening mucking around in the greenhouses, not when she had prefect rotas to organise…

"Granger?"

She looked up.

There, standing in the doorway, was Draco Malfoy. He looked thinner than she had ever seen him – even in sixth year, when Voldemort's threat to murder his parents was hanging over his head – and there were large, dark circles underneath his eyes.

Hermione jumped to her feet at once. It wasn't as if he didn't have a right to be here – he was a student, after all – but just the thought of being trapped in the greenhouse with him was enough to make her skin crawl.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. The sleeves of his robes fell back, revealing the Dark Mark, still gleaming black on his arm. He saw her staring at it and tugged his shirtsleeves down quickly.

"Might I have a word, Granger?"

She folded her arms, smearing dirt all across the front of her school jumper.

Draco gritted his teeth. "Thank you."

"Excuse me?"

"For what you did in June," he said, avoiding her brown eyes, "I want to say thank you. If you could pass on the message to Potter and Weasley –"

"You're _thanking_ me?"

"Yes," said Draco, mumbling through gritted teeth, "I am."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"The three of you…well, I'm sure you can appreciate we've had our differences, but you saved my life in the final battle. I'm very grateful."

He didn't look it. A blush was creeping up his hollow cheeks and he was resolutely avoiding her eyes. He looked, thought Hermione, like a small boy whose mother was forcing him to apologise. She thought of Narcissa's cold, grey eyes and wondered just how much of that was true.

"Well, that's very…unexpected of you, Draco, but thank you. I'll pass on the message when I next see them. I…I'd better go. I need to be up at the castle soon."

She picked up her trowel and pulled off her gloves, starting towards the exit, but Draco did not move. He was standing very still and swallowing nervously, and to Hermione's sceptical eyes it looked as though he was fighting back the urge to be sick. She pushed past him regardless, and deposited her trowel in Professor Sprout's bucket by the door.

"Hermione!"

She froze.

He'd never called her by her first name before.

"Hermione," he said again, "wait."

She turned around, her arms folded. "What?"

Draco clenched his fists, staring at the floor. "I…I did a lot of things I shouldn't have done. Not just in the Wizarding War, but before that. I said and did a lot of things to you that…that a gentleman should never have said."

She raised her eyebrows. Malfoy, a gentleman?

He cleared his throat, still looking at the floor. "I'd like you to accept my sincerest apologies if anything I said or did upset you."

His grey eyes finally found hers, and Hermione felt her jaw drop. There was nothing but sincerity in his face, and to her astonishment, as she stared at him in sheer disbelief a blush began to creep across his face.

"I'm really very sorry," he muttered.

Hermione felt as though she'd just been Stupefied. She'd only ever dreamed that this could happen. Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, blushing to the roots of his white-blond hair, and apologising. Apologising!

And he meant it, too…

"Well," said Hermione, clearing her throat and desperately trying to ignore the blush that she _knew_ was creeping into her cheeks, "thank you, Draco. That's very…nice."

She ran through the greenhouse door without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

Haha so the plot for this literally just appeared in my head overnight, looks like I'll be working on this for a while :P Please remember to read and review and let me know if you liked it!

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat in his dorm, lost in thought.

He was sitting on his four-poster bed, the dark green curtains drawn around him. The rest of the seventh-year Slytherin boys would (he hoped) have hardly have noticed he was there, if any of them were to walk in.

He hoped they wouldn't.

Draco did not like the rest of the seventh years. Or rather, they did not like him.

It was bad enough that Mother had made him come back to school with the year below. He'd never liked the younger years much, although before the war they'd seemed to hang on his every word. Back then, there was always a little second year ready to carry his books, or a fourth year girl batting her eyelids hopefully at him. He'd never been short of friends, before the war had begun.

Before he'd become a Death Eater.

Now, it was a different story. Those who were still afraid of the Malfoy reputation would shrink back from him and scurry out of his path, and those who saw the skull and snake burned into his skin would soon scuttle out of his way like frightened mice. Most of the Slytherins fell into this category. They were all ambitious, bright students, who knew that it would never be a good idea to cross the heir to the Malfoy estate.

But there were a lot more people who hated him for what he'd done.

There were people in this school, in this house, who'd suffered because of what he'd done. Persephone Khong, a third year Slytherin girl, had lost her parents in the war, and Draco suspected that it might be his fault. The Khongs had been some of Dumbledore's strongest supporters; when the Dark Lord had taken over Draco and his father had been sent to their house to…

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about what he'd done, about what made Persephone narrow her dark eyes at him every time he passed. She wasn't the only one he'd hurt. There wasn't a student in this school who didn't hold a grudge against the Malfoys and who wasn't taking it out on him. His books were ripped, his bag was stolen, his trunk had been broken into and all his clothes had been sprinkled with itching powder and, if he wasn't back in the dorms before night fell, he knew for a fact that Charlie Jackson – an enormous sixth-year Gryffindor with a face like a bull – would grind him into a paste.

The only one who didn't seem to hate him was Hermione Granger.

He'd thought that she would despise him after what he'd done. Even if he hadn't become a Death Eater, he'd bullied her for years – surely she must hate him for that.

But he'd seen her taking points from people who'd smashed his brass scales, he knew that she'd put more people in detention for stealing his bag and once, he'd overheard her telling Charlie Jackson in no uncertain terms that if he ever tried to hit Draco again she'd hex his fingers together.

No, Hermione did not hate him.

He didn't know why, but he was grateful for it all the same.

There was a sharp rap on the window and Draco stuck his head out from behind the curtains of his four-poster. A slightly ruffled-looking screech owl was tapping on his window. He climbed out of bed – cautiously, just in case – crossed over to the window and opened it. He took the letter from the owl, who flew off at once, in a slightly lopsided sort of way.

His mail must have been searched again.

He settled himself back down on his bed and opened the letter.

_Dearest Draco,_ it read, in his mother's swooping handwriting, _thank you for your last letter. Your father and I miss you terribly, but I'm afraid you must continue your education at Hogwarts. As much as we would like to have you back, we've simply been unable to find a tutor prepared to educate you at home, and so you must remain at Hogwarts for the time being. Be strong, my darling, and think of this as an opportunity to rebuild the Malfoy reputation and prove yourself to the rest of the wizarding world. I have every confidence in you, darling._

_Your loving Mother_

Draco slumped back on his pillows moodily, his mother's letter crumpled in his hand.

His mother's confidence was entirely misplaced.

Of course, he knew that he would have to build his image back up again after his involvement with the Death Eaters. The Malfoys had been let off after Potter had revealed their last-minute change of allegiance to the Wizengamotte, but although they may have escaped Azkaban, there was a lot more work to be done. Half the family fortune had been spent on repairing – and cleaning – Malfoy Manor, not to mention lawyer's fees. Neither of his parents had been able to get a job, not when their ties to the Dark Lord were so widely known.

No, thought Draco, it was all down to him. Potter had spoken out publicly about the ways that he'd helped him, but that wasn't going to be enough. He had to prove to everyone who would listen that despite his past, he was just as clever, just as resourceful and just as hard-working as Hermione Granger. And to do that, he needed to pass his NEWTs with flying colours.

Only that was proving to be quite difficult.

He'd been so preoccupied in sixth year that he'd missed out on all the basic spellwork, and now he was so confused that his textbooks may well have been written in runes for all the good it did him. He would have to re-learn everything he was taught in sixth year as well as everything he would need for seventh year if he was going to even dream of passing, and it wasn't going well. He spent hours poring over his textbooks and yet more hours poring over the library books, and none of it was sinking in.

Draco lay back on his bed and sighed, loudly.

He was going to have to find a tutor.


	3. Chapter 3

Ooooohhh what's this, another chapter? ;) Massive thank yous to osirisredgirl and snapplexo for your reviews - I really appreciate your feedback! This story has really gripped me, I'm really enjoying writing it - please r&r and let me know if you do to :) thanks!

* * *

Hermione was sitting in the Head Girl's office and brooding over the prefect rota. Every so often, she would glance up at the fireplace.

It was empty.

Ron had promised that he would talk to her at seven on the dot. It was now quarter to eight, and the sun was already sinking behind the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and she had not seen one hair on his ginger head.

It wasn't his fault, she knew. He'd said in his last letter that he wasn't sure if he'd be able to get away from Auror training in time – something about a night-time exercise – so it wasn't as if she hadn't been warned.

But it had been a long time since she'd spoken to Ron, or to Harry. They'd both joined the Aurors only a few weeks after Voldemort's death, and she'd barely heard from them since. Ginny was still getting regular letters from Harry – a whole scroll of parchment at least once a week – but she'd heard very little from Ron. He'd never been a great letter writer to begin with.

There was a sharp rap on her window. Hermione jumped to her feet, dropping her quill and splattering ink all across the prefect rota. A sleek eagle owl was tapping on her window.

She ran towards it and threw the window open, eagerly. It held out its leg, she untied the scroll and it flew away. At last, a letter from Ron…

_Granger,_ the letter read, in an elegant, tidy hand, _I am willing to engage your services as a tutor. Contact me to arrange my first lesson at the earliest convenience._

_Draco Malfoy_

Hermione let out a snort of indignant laughter and tossed Draco's letter into the fireplace.

* * *

Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table, the Daily Prophet spread out in front of her. Around her, the Great Hall was babbling with talk as students filed in for their breakfast. The enchanted ceiling was a dull, cloudy grey, and a smattering of autumn leaves had collected in the hole in the roof. Professor Flitwick's Boliatus spell had created an invisible barrier around the hole in the roof, stopping the leaves – and the rain that was sure to follow – from falling onto the four house tables. It would have been an ingenious solution to the problem if the post owls could have stopped flying into it.

Hermione turned another page of the Daily Prophet, ignoring the low, ringing sound of a post owl smacking into the Charms professor's spell. Fenrir Greyback was still at large, and along with Dolohov and Yaxley, he had broken into the house of a young couple and –

Hermione pushed her bowl of porridge to one side. She was not very hungry any more.

She turned the page, quickly, as the muttering redoubled all around her. She skimmed over an article about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting divorced, completely ignored an advertisement for a new book from Rita Skeeter – 'Harry Potter: The Boy who Loved' – and flinched as she felt someone tapping her on the shoulder.

She turned around.

Draco Malfoy was standing behind her, red to the roots of his hair. His arms were folded and his face was set into a moody scowl.

"Did you get my note, Granger?" he snapped, staring fixedly at a point some two feet over Hermione's head.

"Yes, I did."

A rush of whispering was running up and down the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy was talking to Hermione Granger, in public, and the word 'Mudblood' had not been said once.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

He glared at her. "When is my first lesson?"

Hermione turned back to her porridge. "I'm not tutoring you, Malfoy."

"Why not? I can pay you."

"I'm sure you can, but I'm still not doing it. I'm a very busy woman."

His fists were clenched. Gryffindors up and down the table were eyeing Draco warily, and Charlie Jackson was already reaching for his wand.

"If you've got time to muck around in the greenhouses, you've got time to tutor me!"

Hermione smirked up at him. "Really, Malfoy, you won't get anywhere with that kind of attitude. You have to ask me nicely – and you haven't even said please."

And with that, she swept out of the Great Hall, leaving a table of laughing Gryffindors – and a red-faced Draco Malfoy – behind her.

* * *

Hermione was sitting in her office again. The lamps were burning low – it was already long past ten o'clock – but there was no way she could stop work, not now. There was far too much to do: she had an essay for Ancient Runes, Potions and Transfiguration, the greenhouse rota to organise, a list of complaints about one of the Hufflepuff prefects and she had to look over the new safety regulations before she handed them out.

She yawned, leaning back in her chair. Being Head Girl was far more difficult than she had thought it would be, but this office had proved invaluable. At the beginning of the year, she'd thought she wouldn't need it, but after the first week of term – and Ginny's third exploding parcel from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – she'd practically moved in. It had taken a while to persuade Professor McGonagall to allow her to put a bed in there – strictly speaking, she was supposed to sleep in the dormitories with the rest of the seventh year girls – but after Filch had tried to give her detention three nights in a row for wandering the corridors at night, McGonagall had relented.

Hermione looked over her shoulder.

Her bed looked _so_ inviting…

There was a sharp knock at the door and she flinched.

"Come in!"

Draco Malfoy opened the door, carrying an enormous bouquet of red lilies and wearing an incredibly grumpy expression.

Her mouth fell open.

He thrust them at her, irritably. Some of the petals fell off, fluttering down onto her half-finished Potions essay.

She just stared at them.

"Well?" he snapped, glaring at her, "aren't you going to take them?"

Hermione eyed the flowers warily. "What are you doing?"

He glared at her. "Asking you nicely," he muttered, his cheeks turning bright pink again. "Please will you tutor me, Miss Granger?"

She took the flowers from him cautiously. They didn't seem poisonous, and nor could she see anything hidden in their centre – no Bubotuber pus, no spiked vines, no vicious little Bowtruckles…

"Well…thank you, Draco," she said, blinking rapidly, "but I'm just not sure if I _can_ tutor you. I've got so much to do, I just don't think I'd have the time."

Draco folded his arms. "Well, make time. I've got you flowers, now you have to tutor me."

Hermione laid down the flowers on her desk, forcing herself to keep a perfectly sweet smile on her face. She wanted nothing more than to leap across the desk and punch him, right in his smug mouth.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, still smiling, "do you honestly think that a bunch of flowers and an apology can change my mind, after everything you've done to me?"

For a split second he just stared at her, fists clenched, shoulders taut. He looked as if she'd slapped him right across his pale face.

He turned and left without another word.

* * *

Hermione was kneeling on the floor of Greenhouse Seven. She had an hour to spare before her next Arithmancy class – not enough time to redraft her Transfiguration essay, but more than enough time to plant a tiny, wriggling Devil's Snare. It was barely bigger than her fist, but it had already wrapped its tiny tendrils around her wrist more than once and tried to drag her into the dirt.

The door opened. Hermione sighed. Planting this wriggling monstrosity must have taken much longer than she thought it would…

"Granger!"

Hermione sighed.

Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of the path again, glaring at her, his fists clenched. She eased herself to her feet, pulling her finger out of the Devil's Snare's grip as she did so.

"What is it now, Malfoy?"

Draco ground his feet into the dirt, steadying himself, his hands still balled into fists.

"You aren't leaving this greenhouse until you've agreed to tutor me."


	4. Chapter 4

Next chapter! Thanks to Aradia1013 and Modges for the reviews, really appreciate your feedback! Here's another chapter to tide you through the weekend :P

* * *

"You aren't leaving this greenhouse until you've agreed to tutor me."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to threaten her, not really, but now Hermione was reaching for her wand and glaring at him as she did so.

She laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy," she snapped, pointing her wand at him, "you couldn't stop me from leaving even if you tried."

He drew his own wand now and smirked at her. Her eyes flashed; his smirk had always annoyed her.

"Try me."

For a long moment they just glared at each other, wands raised. Then, he whirled around, pointed his wand at the door, and yelled "Colloportus!"

The greenhouse door slammed shut, locking itself with an odd squelching noise.

He smirked at her. A muscle underneath Hermione's eye twitched.

She pointed her wand at the door over his shoulder. "Alohamora!"

The door sprang open.

She raised her eyebrows at him and Draco's temper seethed.

"We aren't done here, Granger," he snapped, pointing his wand at the door again, "Colloportus!"

It slammed shut.

"Yes, we are, Malfoy. Alohamora!"

It sprang open.

"Colloportus!"

_Slam._

"Alohamora!"

_Slam._

"Colloportus!"

"Aloham –"

"Expelliarmus!"

Hermione's wand flew out of her hand. It soared through the air, high over her head, and sailed into Draco's outstretched hand. He smirked at her and pocketed it.

She glared at him. "Give it back, Malfoy!"

"Make me! Now, about this tutoring –"

Draco froze.

He had a split second's warning. Hermione shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, balled her hands into fists and leaned ever so slightly backwards.

Then, she rugby tackled him.

Her shoulder slammed into his stomach, her arms wrapped around his waist as all the breath was punched straight out of his lungs. He had only the briefest moment to register that Hermione Granger – _Hermione Granger,_ of all people – had practically thrown herself at him before he slammed back down onto the ground, pain exploding across his back and shoulders.

Both wands flew out of his hands.

Hermione darted after them, scrabbling towards them as she tried to pick herself up from the dirt, but Draco was quicker. His hand shot out, grabbing her ankle and dragging her backwards, bringing her crashing down into a row of Shrinking Violets, that scurried out of her way as she fell into the flowerbeds. She rolled over, spraying dirt everywhere and he lunged for her. She aimed a kick at his head – it missed, but hit his already stinging shoulder – and he sprung forwards, pinning her down by her wrists and pressing her shoulders deep into the dirt.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said, gasping for breath, as pain began to pulse in his stomach, "where'd you learn a move like that?"

She was glaring up at him, dirt streaked all across her face and clothes, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. Her face was inches from his; she was so close to him that he could see every freckle on her cheeks and every faint line underneath her tired eyes. She was panting too, and as he stared into her gleaming brown eyes he was becoming increasingly aware of her heaving chest.

He could feel the blush crawling into his face.

"Never you mind!" she spat, "let me go!"

"Not until you say you'll tutor me!"

Her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. "If you don't let me go this minute, Draco Malfoy, I will headbutt you."

"You wouldn't."

"Don't think I won't do it!" she snapped, glaring at him, curling her hands into fists.

"Now, that's not very appropriate behaviour for the Head Girl, is it?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," she muttered, blushing. She drew her head back and Draco released her at once, springing backwards.

"All right, all right! Calm down, Granger!"

She sat up, still glowering at him, and began brushing the dirt off her uniform.

"Give me back my wand, Malfoy."

"I don't have it. You'll have to look for it yourself. I'll help you, if you –"

"Oh, do shut up," she said, getting to her feet and peering into the nearest flowerbed. He glared at her for a moment, and then got to his feet and began to look for his own wand, resisting the urge to let out a long stream of curse words.

They did not speak to each other. They moved along the flowerbeds without saying a word, although Draco could feel Hermione's temper radiating towards him from somewhere over his shoulder. It was a force to be reckoned with, crackling out from the tips of her wild hair like electricity…

"Why do you want me to tutor you so badly, anyway?" she snapped.

He could hear her rummaging through the leaves, but he knew that she was listening closely.

He stared into the roots of an old, gnarled-looking Snargaluff stump with his arms folded.

"Because you're the best," he said, peering around the mess of thorny vines that wormed their way around the vicious plant, "and I have a lot to catch up on."

"I gathered that," she muttered, and he could feel her glare on the back of his neck, "but why don't you ask one of the professors? They give remedial classes. Why me?"

"Well…after Dumbledore…"

His voice trailed away.

He did not want to ask the professors for help. They were teaching him, and they were marking his work fairly, but he knew that they hated him for his part in the Headmaster's death. He could feel it in every stony look and hear it in every curt voice.

No, the Hogwarts professors would not go out of their way to help him.

Hermione, however…

He sighed, and stared into a knotted whorl at the centre of the Snargaluff stump. He was going to have to tell the truth.

"I've done a lot of bad things," he muttered, still staring at the dead-looking plant, "and I don't have a lot of people left to turn to. You're probably the only one that would help me, after all the things I've done."

"And what makes you think that?"

He smiled, even though he knew she couldn't see it.

"You didn't have to help Potter prepare for the Triwizard tournament. You didn't have to free the house elves. You didn't have to help fight You-Know-Who. You didn't have to do any of those things, and you don't have to spend every free period helping Professor Sprout build up the greenhouses. But that's what you do, you help people."

Behind him, the leaves stopped rustling.

"And you need help, do you?" she asked, in a very different tone of voice.

He cleared his throat. "Things have been…difficult. I've got a lot to deal with, and two years' worth of work to cover."

He couldn't tell her all of it. Not Granger.

She sighed and gave the plants one last rustle. Seconds later, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Hermione was standing feet from him, a very guarded expression on her face. She was holding out his wand.

He took it. "Thank you."

She sighed. "Meet me in the library at eight. Bring your sixth-year potions book, we'll start there."


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys! New chapter today - and once again, massive thank you to snapplexo and my anonymous reviewer, I really appreciate your feedback :) Feel I should mention that I'm not JK Rowling in the light of her surprise novel - these characters, however, do belong to her. I'm just making them dance for me. :P Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione traipsed back up to the Head Girl's office in a state of shock.

She had just agreed to tutor Draco Malfoy.

She had just agreed – and willingly, too – to spend hours in his company, holed up in the library or some deserted classroom, where there would be no teachers to keep him in check.

She could have kicked herself.

She pushed open her office door and a nasty thought occurred to her.

There would be no witnesses either. If Draco didn't really want her help – and this was all some kind of ruse – there would be no-one to rely on if things got nasty.

She swallowed, nervously.

She was going to have to talk to someone about this.

She grabbed her bag and sprinted back to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Hermione counted her blessings that she was still allowed into the seventh-year girls' dormitory. She hadn't slept there in weeks – she was almost always in her office these days, it was only natural that she should sleep in there instead – but she did miss it. After six years of sleeping in other people's company, the silence of her office was more than a little unnerving.

She had many more nightmares when she was alone in the dark and quiet.

Ginny was lying on her bed, sprawled out on her stomach and scribbling a long letter. The end of the parchment was already dangling off the end of her bed, and as Hermione entered, she saw her eyeing a fresh roll.

"Hermione!" she squealed, "I haven't seen you in – what happened?"

Hermione glanced down at her uniform. It was covered in dirt, along with her hands, arms and face, and her back and shoulders were throbbing from where Draco had slammed them against the ground. Compared to her usual neat appearance – apart from her wild mane of hair, of course – she looked like she'd just tried to wrestle a troll.

And, in a way, she had.

"It's nothing," she said, brushing off the soil from her robes, "I just wanted to ask your advice on something."

Ginny sat up, eyeing her warily and rolling up her unfinished letter. "Go on, then."

"Well…don't spread this around too much, but I've sort of been talked into tutoring Draco Malfoy."

Ginny's face darkened immediately. "And this is what that slimeball did to convince you?" she spat, gesturing at Hermione's dirty clothes and face, "where is he? I'll curse him 'til his ears bleed!"

Hermione laughed. "No, it's not like that. He didn't threaten me, or anything like that. We just had a bit of a disagreement before I agreed to do it."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "A bit of a disagreement?"

"Come on, Ginny! You know I can look after myself."

Ginny folded her arms, and for a split second Hermione was reminded forcibly of Mrs Weasley. "And this was what you wanted to talk to me about, was it?"

Hermione nodded. "It seems like he's really trying to change – he actually apologised to me for the things he did in the past, and he hasn't called me a Mudblood once. But…well, it's _Draco Malfoy_, and after everything that's happened – everything he did – I'm just a bit nervous."

Ginny pursed her lips, deep in thought.

"Well," she said, slowly, "if you're set on tutoring him there are ways to make sure you're safe. If you make sure you meet in a public place, when you know there are going to be people around, it'll mean he's a lot less likely to try anything. And if you're still nervous, you can check in with me every time you have a lesson. I've still got the old DA coin, we could use that."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Ginny."

"Of course," Ginny continued, "I don't think you should be tutoring him at all. If I were you I'd ask one of the professors to do it or turn him down completely. He's so creepy, I don't know how you can stand to be around him!"

"I can't do that, you know how busy the professors are. Besides, he's actually quite intelligent, so I probably won't be tutoring him for long."

Ginny fiddled with a strand of her long, red hair. "Hmmm…have you told Ron about this?"

"No, I haven't heard from him in a while. He was supposed to Floo me earlier in the week, but I suppose he was too busy."

Ginny pursed her lips again.

A blush crept into Hermione's cheeks. She cleared her throat, almost nervously.

"I don't suppose you've heard from him, at all?" she said, doing her best to keep her voice casual.

"No," Ginny said, frowning, "I've heard from Harry, though. He sends his love, by the way. You know, I think I ought to write to Mum, see if she's heard anything. Ron's never been a great writer, but if anyone can get him to write to us it's Mum."

She grinned up at Hermione, pushing her fiery hair out of her eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm sure he's fine."

"Yes," said Hermione, rather more quickly than she meant to. "Thanks, Ginny. I…I'd better get going."

She left the dormitory without another word.

* * *

It had been weeks since she'd properly heard from Ron.

He'd sent her letters, yes, but Hermione wouldn't really call them letters. They were more like brief, scribbled notes, ink splattered all across the page as Ron scrawled down his message before he went off to his training. He assured her that he was fine, promised he'd write her a longer letter and swore that he'd Floo her the next day, when he had more time.

Hermione never got those longer letters.

She never got the Floo call she was promised, either, even though she waited for it. She'd sit up for hours, staring at the fireplace in her office, waiting for Ron's face to grin up out of her fireplace.

She sighed, and cast a dirty look at her empty fireplace.

She needed to have a good, long talk with that boy.

It wasn't just the scraps instead of notes – one had been written on the back of an envelope, for Merlin's sake – no, she needed to sit Ron down and really _talk_.

But it had all happened so fast that they'd barely had a chance to talk.

She'd been swept up in the fear and excitement of the war against Voldemort, seeing only him and Harry for however many months, and by the time the Battle of Hogwarts had rolled around she wasn't sure how she loved him – as a friend, or as something more. But she'd been so afraid, and so full of adrenalin, and so confused that there'd been nothing left to do but kiss him, in case she never got a chance to do it again…

She blushed.

But then he'd left, and she'd gone back to school, and neither of them had a chance to decide what it was that they really wanted, and suddenly Hermione had found herself Head Girl, war hero, and the girlfriend of a man whose face she hadn't seen in months.

And then Draco Malfoy had appeared, apologetic and arrogant and bringing flowers, of all things…

She'd kept them.

She hadn't told anyone, though. She had a vague sense that it was somehow rude to throw out flowers that a man had given you, though she couldn't remember where she'd picked that up.

And besides, they were beautiful flowers.

She threw down her quill, glaring into space and fuming over Ron. Her eyes fell on the beautiful, elegant red lilies, and she felt a little of her anger ebb away.

They really were beautiful flowers.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey there! New chapter today, hope you guys enjoy it! Please remember to r&r - I'm always looking to improve my work and any and all feedback is appreciated :)

* * *

It took three circuits of the library before Draco found Hermione. She had tucked herself away in a little corner table, shielding herself from view with mountains of books, and it had only been her frantic whispering that had alerted him to her hiding place.

He sauntered over, his heavy schoolbag slamming repeatedly into the small of his back. He'd crammed it full with all the Potions books he'd been able to get his hands on and – although he'd never admit it – his last essay, on which Slughorn had scrawled an enormous letter 'P'.

He sat down next to her, glancing over his shoulder.

"Hiding, are we?"

She glared at him. "Let's just get started. What are you having the most trouble with?"

Draco pulled out his textbook and glanced down the index. "Mainly the principles, I'm much better at the practical."

"Right," said Hermione, flipping through pages of meticulously neat notes, "we'll start with Golpalott's Laws, then."

At once, she launched into an explanation of Golpalott's First, Second and Third Laws, and it was all Draco could do to keep up. He scribbled down everything she said at top speed, but he was still at least two sentences behind her and his handwriting was slowly degenerating into one long, horizontal line.

"…and so the combination of all the elements will never be enough to produce an effective antidote – some kind of binding agent is required to link them all together. Do you see?"

He scribbled down her last few sentences and glanced back over his notes.

He could barely read them.

"Err…"

She glanced over at his notes and raised her eyebrows. He snatched them away from her.

"I can read them!" he lied, "that's all that matters!"

"Clearly," she muttered.

"Watch your tone, Granger, or I won't pay you for these lessons!"

"You aren't paying me anyway!"

"Exactly!"

They glared at each other. Madam Pince materialised from behind a bookshelf and fixed them with a furious, beady eye, and they both fell silent. She stalked away through the bookshelves, and Draco dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Old hag," he muttered, glaring after the librarian, "why'd you have to pick the library, anyway? We can't exactly talk in here."

She flushed a little. "It's not the best place, I know, but where else could we meet? We couldn't get into each other's common rooms and the Great Hall would be far too noisy."

"There's always your office."

Hermione went scarlet. "Don't be ridiculous! The library's the best place, where else could we get hold of so many books?"

"We could borrow them from here. Come on, Granger, you must see that meeting here's a stupid idea! We'll never get anything done if we're always whispering like this, and besides, it'd be much more private up there!"

Colour exploded in Hermione's cheeks.

"And why would you want these sessions to be more private, Draco Malfoy?"

He could feel the heat crawling up his neck.

"Not like that! You were the one hiding in the corner, I just thought you wanted these sessions to be more private! Don't be such a prude, Granger!"

She glared at him, so fiercely that he actually shifted his chair away from her.

"Excuse me?"

She was going to hex him, he knew it. He could already see her fingers straying towards her wand and fury was etched all over her face. He'd be left with boils sprouting all across his face, or tentacles growing out of his ears, or mushrooms sprouting up on his –

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"What are you –"

"Don't hex me," he muttered, "we're in the library!"

He could feel her soft skin underneath his fingertips, and her racing pulse fluttering against the palm of his hand. Her brown eyes were bright, flushed with anger, and for some reason it was taking all the effort in the world not to slide his hand down her wrist and slip his hand in hers…

"Look," he hissed, clearing his throat, "I'm sorry, all right? You can have these lessons wherever you want. I just…I just really need this to work. I've got a lot to catch up on and not much time to do it in."

He felt her wrist shift underneath his hand, but she did not pull away.

"We'll…we'll try again on Friday," she muttered, "for now, I want you to read these."

She slid a list of books across the desk.

"I won't see you again until Friday?"

Colour crept into her cheeks again. "Well, I expect you'll see me around every day, what with all the classes we have together."

"Not like that," he snapped, "you know how much I need these lessons!"

She stood up, tearing her hand from his grasp and glaring down at him.

"Well, you'd better get on with the reading, hadn't you?"

She scooped up her books and flounced out. Draco sighed and glowered down at the sheet of scribbled notes, his hand still warm from Hermione's skin.

* * *

Draco stalked back to the Slytherin common room, fuming. Some lesson that had been – she'd explained everything well enough, but she'd run off at the slightest hint of criticism. Typical Granger, he thought, always so superior…

He stumped up the stairs to the seventh-year boys' dorm and threw himself face first onto his bed, groaning loudly.

A letter fluttered to the floor.

He scooped it up and ripped it open, and at once, a swarm of tiny, needle-like bugs sprung out. They launched themselves at him, stabbing at his hands and face, sending tiny flashes of pain right through him.

"Impedimenta!"

The swarm froze in mid-air. Draco sat back on his haunches, panting, and stared at it. What he'd thought were needle-like bugs were, in fact, needles, balanced in the air as though suspended on invisible strings.

"Evanesco!"

They vanished. Draco frowned down at the letter. Who would want to bewitch an envelope full of needles and send them to him?

Cautiously, he peered inside the little envelope. There was nothing else left in there, and so he reached inside and pulled out the letter – keeping his wand clutched tightly, just in case.

It was a blank sheet of parchment, but for a series of letters that someone – he wasn't sure who – had cut out of the Daily Prophet and stuck onto the page, spelling out the message:

STAY AWAY FROM HERMIONE GRANGER


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys, hope you're all ready for the latest instalment! Special thanks to c0lorless r0ses for the review, I really appreciate it! As always, feel free to r&r, I'm always happy to receive feedback :) Enjoy!

* * *

The fire crackled in Hermione's fireplace as she scribbled the conclusion on Professor Starkwell's Dementor essay. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was a tall, thin woman who reminded Hermione of a cross between a Colonel and a young Professor McGonagall – her thin mouth and broad shoulders gave off the same no-nonsense attitude she had come to expect from the Headmistress.

There was a sharp knock at the door and Charlie Jackson walked in, his arms full of envelopes. He deposited them all on her desk with a grin, watching them skitter across the still-wet ink of her Defence Against the Dark Arts essay.

"And this is…"

Charlie ran his hands through his sandy brown hair. "Your fan mail. It's been screened, don't worry. I was passing by the Owlery on my way here and thought I'd pick it up for you."

Hermione stared at the pile of letters, all addressed to her, and gulped. One of them had an enormous lipstick kiss plastered across the back, and another had dotted the 'i' in her name with a tiny heart.

"Oh dear," she muttered, picking it up as though it were a bomb about to explode.

Charlie laughed. "I'd be flattered, if I were you. You must have had more proposals than half the school put together."

Hermione grimaced.

"Anyway," said Charlie, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, "here's the Quidditch timetable, just like you asked for."

"Thank you," she said, taking the piece of paper and scanning it briefly, "hopefully this time we should be able to avoid any clashes with the prefect rota. How's the team getting along, by the way?"

"Great! We'll have the Cup in the bag, no problem. Course, you could always come down and see for yourself," he added, glancing up at her in a carefully casual way, "the team don't mind a few spectators, and we usually all go for drinks after…"

Ah.

There it was.

She had suspected for some time that Charlie had a crush on her – her newfound celebrity status seemed to make half the wizarding world find her dazzlingly attractive, though Hermione didn't see it herself – but so far, the presence of her equally famous boyfriend had warded most of them off.

But not, it seemed, Charlie Jackson.

"Well, I'll have to see about that," she said, her voice as neutral as she could make it as she sorted through the letters on her desk, "I've been so busy lately, I might not have time. Thank you for the offer, though, and good luck for the first match."

She did not look up at him, but when he spoke, Charlie's voice was laden with defeat.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbled, closing the door behind him with a snap.

* * *

Hermione scanned through her fan mail – a process which took the best part of an hour – and ended up throwing most of it on her fire. It wasn't that she was ungrateful – she did, after all, appreciate that people might want to thank her for saving the world – but after the third picture of a fat, middle aged wizard doing a striptease she really couldn't take any more of it.

Instead, she went down to the greenhouses.

She was halfway down the seventh-floor corridor when she all but collided with Professor McGonagall.

"I'm so sorry, Professor –"

"Not to worry, not to worry," said the Headmistress, brushing the last of the dust from her robes, "I was just looking for you, Miss Granger. Might I have a word?"

Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall led her back along the corridor and towards the gargoyle that guarded the Head's Office. It had been magically fixed – although a web of cracks was sprawled across its stone neck – and, when Professor McGonagall snapped the password, it sprang aside and allowed them both to climb the spiral staircase.

"Dragon's liver."

Professor McGonagall opened the door to her office and sat behind her enormous desk. The office was rather sterner than Hermione had seen it before. The lack of tables and delicate instruments made the room look much larger than she had ever seen it, and a tartan biscuit tin gleaming on the desk was the only pop of colour in the entire room.

Hermione sat down in a mercilessly straight-backed chair on the other side of the desk.

"Now then, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, fixing her with a particularly steely glare, "how are you getting on?"

Hermione blinked at her.

"Excuse me, Professor?"

"I understand you've been taking on rather a lot of extra work recently," said McGonagall, "aside from your school work and prefect duties – which I understand must be strenuous after the departure of our Head Boy – you have been helping with the reconstruction of the castle and, as I understand it, have just begun to tutor Draco Malfoy."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. How Professor McGonagall had come to hear that, barely a day after their first session…

"Miss Granger," said the Headmistress, in a low, understanding tone of voice, "I understand that this must be a difficult time for you. This is your first year apart from Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, and given everything that has happened over the past year – well, it is more than understandable that you want to keep yourself busy. But please remember, Miss Granger, that your school days are not just a time for work, and that the responsibility of running the castle does not rest solely on the shoulders of the Head Girl."

Hermione nodded. Professor McGonagall fixed her with a particularly beady look.

"As you know, Miss Granger, the school has chosen to reinstate the Yule Ball this year. I know that we had arranged for you and the rest of the prefects to patrol the corridors on that night, but I'm going to have to make an adjustment."

"Professor?"

Professor McGonagall smiled at her. "It is mandatory for you to attend. Not in your capacity as Head Girl, but as an ordinary student of this school."

"But Professor –"

"That's quite enough, Miss Granger, I've made up my mind. Merlin knows it's the only way I'll be able to ensure that you get at least one night off this term."

Professor McGonagall smiled, and Hermione understood that she had been dismissed.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione paused, her hand already on the doorknob. "Yes, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Do be careful."


	8. Chapter 8

Well hey there readers! Sorry for the wait, work is (as ever) a bitch :P thanks to snapplexo and Hunter's Heir for the reviews - I really appreciate your feedback :) hope you guys enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

Draco knew where Hermione would be this time. He headed straight for the little corner table, tucked up against the doors to the Restricted Section, smirking to himself. She'd done her best to shield herself from view behind another wall of books, but her mane of wild brown curls was impossible to miss.

He slid into the seat behind her, ignoring the brief glare he received from Persephone Khong as he passed the third-year girl.

Hermione was fast asleep.

She was slumped over a pile of paperwork, ink smeared across her cheek. Her eyes were tight shut and she was breathing deeply, her mouth slightly open. Her wild brown hair spilled out across the table – the frizz levels were critically high. Draco hadn't seen it that bad since they'd sat their OWLs together.

He peered down at the sheets of paper. Prefect rotas, letters, internship applications, a mountain of essays and what appeared to be a pile of teaching notes… Draco shook his head. She never stopped working.

He put his hand on her shoulder – her breath tickled the back of his hand, sending shivers right up his arm – and shook her awake, as gently as he could.

"Granger?" he hissed, shaking her again, "Wake up! Granger –"

She jerked awake. "What? I – oh, it's you. What are you doing here?"

He glared at her. "I'm here for my lesson, remember?"

A slightly manic gleam appeared in her eyes as she sat up, running her hands through her wild hair. "What? It's that late already? Oh no, I had to hand out the rotas at seven! Oh, how am I going to get hold of everyone now…"

He snorted with laughter. "Relax, Granger. Just owl them out. No-one expects the great Hermione Granger to hand-deliver every single prefect rota."

A little of the panic left Hermione's tired, pale face.

"Now," he said, leaning back in his chair, "teach me."

She glared at him. "Have you done the reading I set you?"

He nodded. "All of it. And I summarised it too, in case I need it again. For homework, you know."

Hermione blinked at him. For a moment, she actually looked taken aback, but then she recovered, shuffling through her notes and blinking away the last traces of sleep.

"We'll move onto Transfiguration, then. I want to give you a basic grounding in all the theoretical stuff first, and then you can come back if you have any specific problems with anything particular. Right, let's start with Vanishing Charms…"

Once again, Draco was subjected to an hour of Hermione's rapid explanations and his own frantic note-taking. By the time the clock chimed nine, ink was splattered all across his arms and the side of his hand was worn to a shine from being dragged across the parchment. He reviewed his notes with a satisfied smirk – it wouldn't take him long to memorise them now – and grinned up at Hermione.

To his astonishment, she had ducked behind the wall of books, her face almost glued to the wooden desk. She flapped her hands at him frantically, pointing towards the desk.

"Err…Granger…" he muttered, bending down to whisper in her ear, "what are you doing?"

"Hide!" she hissed, "it's Charlie Jackson!"

"The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?"

"Yes! Now will you shut up and hide!"

Draco glanced over the top of Hermione's book-barrier. Charlie Jackson was prowling around the library like a caged tiger, his huge shoulders rolling with every step. He caught sight of Draco and scowled, but stalked off in the opposite direction, away from Madam Pince's beady, watchful eyes.

"It's all right," he whispered, "he's gone."

Hermione slumped on the table, breathing out a sigh of relief.

"Why are you hiding from your fellow Gryffindors, anyway? Aren't you all supposed to be one big, loud, stupid family?"

She shot a very sharp look at him. "It's none of your business."

He snorted with laughter. "Don't tell me you're ashamed to be seen in the company of a Malfoy. You should be proud, you know. Most people would consider it an honour."

She said nothing.

A cold, seeping realisation began to creep into Draco's chest.

"You are ashamed, aren't you?"

Hermione froze. Draco's hands balled into fists and he forced himself to keep his voice quiet and calm, even though his hands – and his tone – were shaking.

"You're ashamed to be seen with me!"

"What? No!"

"Then why are you hiding? Why did you pick a spot where no-one else could see us? Why did you do all of that, if you aren't ashamed to be seen with me?"

"It's not like that –"

His knuckles were white, the heat was rising in his face and hot, boiling anger was sweeping through his every vein. Hermione was just staring at him, her brown eyes wide, and Draco's insides felt like they were bubbling with guilt, shame and anger.

"You think _you've_ got something to be ashamed of?" he spat, "you have no idea! Here I am, the last of the Malfoy line, reduced to asking for help from a common –"

Hermione straightened up. For a moment, Draco thought she was going to hit him again, but then he saw the brief flicker of sadness in her eyes and guilt twisted in his guts like a knife.

"Well," she said, snatching up her things, "consider yourself lucky. You won't have to reduce yourself any further!"

And with that, she stormed out of the library, head held high, slamming the door behind her.

For a moment Draco just sat there, seething and glaring at his own, still-clenched fists, but slowly the anger started to ebb away and he was left with nothing but his notes and guilt writhing in his stomach like a snake. He crammed the last sheet of notes into his bag, threw it over his shoulder and stalked out of the library, his hands deep in his pockets.

He was no further than two feet down the corridor when he heard the sound of somebody cracking their knuckles from over his shoulder.

Charlie Jackson stepped out from behind a suit of armour, his fists clenched.

"What did you do to Hermione Granger?"


	9. Chapter 9

New chapter! :D thanks go to c0lorless r0ses, Aramanth01 and snapplexo for your reviews - really appreciate your feedback! I hope all you guys are enjoying the story so far and please remember to let me know your opinion, I always want to hear it :)

* * *

Hermione knew it was Draco knocking on her office door. She'd set up a charm on her office door that allowed her to see through it whenever anyone knocked on the heavy, wooden surface, and the second Draco's face had flashed before her she laid down her quill and stayed as still – and as silent – as she possibly could.

He'd given up eventually. She was supposed to have met him for another tutoring session two days ago, but after what he'd said…

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed one – was it that late already? – and so she stood up, stretched, and began changing into her pyjamas. She'd have to sleep in the office again. Filch was prowling the corridors more vigilantly than ever, after the last wizarding war, and Hermione knew that he'd take any excuse to put her in detention.

She fastened the last button on her blue teddy-bear pyjamas and crawled into bed.

There was a sharp rap on her window.

Hermione groaned, throwing off the covers. She hauled herself out of bed, slouching over to the window. Who'd be sending letters at this time of night?

She opened the window.

But she did not find an owl perched on her windowsill, a letter clamped in its beak.

Instead, she found Draco Malfoy, sitting on a broomstick that was hovering, effortlessly still, outside her window.

She gaped at him.

"Granger," he said, a little stiffly, glancing down at her blue pyjamas. Hermione felt the heat creep up into her cheeks – she was starting to wish she wasn't wearing something patterned with little blue bears.

"Hello."

"I wanted to find you earlier, but you weren't in," he muttered, and Hermione's blush deepened. "I owe you an apology, it seems."

The bitter night air stung Hermione's cheeks and tugged at the ends of her wild hair, but she said nothing. When he spoke, Draco's teeth were chattering together so hard that she could barely understand him.

"I'm sorry I said I was ashamed to take help from you," he muttered, "I'm not. Not really."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you say it? Tell me, Malfoy, who exactly is disgracing you when they offer you help: Mudbloods in general, or just me in particular?"

Draco's mouth fell open. He looked like she'd slapped him.

"It's not like that," he snapped, "look, I know I've said – and done – some stuff that's hurt you in the past but that's just it – it's in the past. Things are…difficult, now, but I'm trying to change them for the better, I really am. What happened in the library was stupid and I never should have said it, but that doesn't make me any less sorry for it."

Hermione folded her arms. Her eyes flickered over Draco's face. There was a shadow of a bruise around his left eye, and a cut on his lip that was slowly healing over.

Clearly, things were more difficult for Draco than he was letting on.

She sighed, and stepped away from the window.

"Come in," she muttered, crossing over to the fireplace, "I'll stick the kettle on."

* * *

Hermione placed a steaming mug of tea in front of Draco and sat back in the armchair she had conjured, her arms folded. He took it. For a split second she thought he was going to throw it back in her face – a few years ago, he would have done – but he just raised the cup to his thin lips and drank.

He looked awful.

He was clearly freezing, even though she'd stoked up the fire and made him sit next to it – his skin was almost grey, it was so pale. She wondered how long he'd been waiting for her outside her window. His pale skin made the fading bruise around his swollen eye show up more starkly than ever, and the cut across his lip was the only flash of colour in his pale face. He smiled curtly at her by way of thanks, and the cut opened up and started bleeding.

"What happened to you?"

Draco sipped his tea and avoided her eyes. "I flew into the Whomping Willow."

"I doubt that," she said, drinking from her own mug, "I'd have heard about that. It's in full view of the school, it'd be impossible to miss."

He said nothing.

"But I'm willing to bet I wouldn't have heard about a couple of students getting into a fight," she said, fixing Draco's pale face with a shrewd look, "or about someone getting beaten up when there's no witnesses to report it."

Draco choked on his tea.

Hermione leaned forwards. "Look, I can tell people you had a flying accident if you like, Draco, but if you're being bullied you should tell someone about it."

"I'm not being bullied!" he snapped, "Malfoys do not get bullied!"

She snorted with laughter. "Don't tell me you just ran into his fists, then?"

He glared at her. "It's just a couple of fights, Granger! It's none of your business! And how do you know I wasn't the one who started them! I'm a Malfoy: we're much more likely to be the bully than the victim!"

She looked at him very coolly over the top of her cup.

"I'm well aware of that."

He flushed.

"Besides," she said, straightening up, "while that may have been the case a few years ago, I'm inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. I haven't heard you use the word 'Mudblood' since we came back."

For a split second, she could have sworn she saw the corners of his mouth twitch, as if he was fighting back a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand and jerked her head towards the door. A slow, shuffling sound was seeping through the gap under the door, and as it grew louder, they both heard the sounds of Argus Filch's bitter mutterings about Peeves' latest mess.

Both of them froze, staring at each other.

Slowly, Draco pulled his wand out of his pocket and wrote in the air. Gleaming gold letters hovered in the air silently, spelling out the words:

_If he finds me coming out of your office in the middle of the night we'll both be in trouble_.

Hermione bit her lip. He was right. Students weren't supposed to be out of bed this late, but that would be the least of their problems. If Draco Malfoy was found sneaking out of her private room in the middle of the night, not only would it be all over the school in a matter of seconds, but she would definitely lose the office and would probably lose her position as Head Girl, along with half – if not all – of the internship offers she'd received. Oh, and, of course, her relationship with Ron would be over.

And that was to say nothing of the repercussions for Draco. She had a sneaking suspicion his recent bruises were the result of someone seeing his attempts to get her to tutor him – probably some well-meaning idiot who thought she needed protecting from a former Death Eater. If he was caught coming back from her room in the middle of the night, it'd be a wonder if he survived until Christmas.

There was only one thing to do.

She waited until Filch's shuffling footsteps had faded, and then let out a sigh.

"All right," she whispered, "you'd better stay here tonight."


	10. Chapter 10

Next chapter! Still not JK Rowling - thought I should probably say. Special thanks to Brigitte Nons and c0lorless r0ses for your reviews - as ever, they are always appreciated :) enjoy!

* * *

"All right," she whispered, "you'd better stay here tonight."

Hermione's words seemed to ring in the air. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the heat slowly rising in Draco's face.

Surely…surely she didn't mean…

He coughed nervously. "You don't mean…in the same bed, do you?"

Hermione went scarlet. "Of course not! I…I don't…I have a boyfriend!"

"I know, I just thought…"

"My pyjamas have bears on them!" she spluttered, "bears, Draco! If I wanted to seduce you I would not be wearing these pyjamas!"

Briefly, Draco wondered if Hermione had a different set of pyjamas that she _would _have worn if she'd wanted to seduce him. He wouldn't have put it past the meticulously organised Gryffindor to have something like that set aside. They were probably, short, lacy, that sort of thing. Maybe with frills or some of that gauzy, see-through stuff Pansy used to drop hints about…

Draco shook his head a little, his cheeks burning. He did not want to think about Hermione Granger in frills, or lace, and especially not that see-through stuff, and yet the images would not stop flickering through his head…

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, her face as red as his, "I'll sleep in the armchair and you can have the bed."

Draco, lost in the realm of uncomfortable fantasies that, he imagined, made up Hermione Granger's pyjama drawer, was brought back down to earth with a bump.

"No, I'm not kicking you out of your own bed," he said, a blush still burning in his cheeks, "I'll take the chair."

She pursed her lips at him and folded her arms. "Look, you're hurt, you're tired, and you've just spent God knows how long hovering outside my window in the freezing cold. You are a guest in my room, and you are sleeping in the bed."

"Well, you're a lady!"

She snorted with laughter. "And you're an idiot, but you're still sleeping in the bed."

"Granger, I am not an idiot and I am not sleeping in that bed!"

"Well, neither am I!"

They glared at each other, fists clenched. Hermione's brown eyes were glaring at him, the ends of her hair crackling with electricity, and in that moment Draco knew that she was never going to give in.

So he crossed the room in two strides and scooped her up into his arms. She gave a little yelp of surprise and snatched at his tie, his jumper, crumbling the fabric underneath her slim fingers as she tried to grab for support. He could feel the warmth of her back resting against his cold arm and tried very hard not to think about his other hand, which was trembling against her thigh…

Draco took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. He could not look her in the face. He knew, with absolute certainty, that bad things would happen if he looked at her face in this moment. He didn't know what those bad things would be, but he didn't intend to find out.

He almost ran over to the bed and dropped Hermione on the mattress as if she were burning. Then he darted back across the room and threw himself into the armchair before she had time to so much as throw a pillow at him. He slumped into the chair, smirking up at her, and saw to his astonishment that she was blushing.

"There," he said, the smirk still plastered across his face, "you're in bed, and I'm in bed. Pleasant dreams, Granger."

Hermione's pillow sailed across the room and hit him in the chest. She extinguished the lights with an exasperated groan and a wave of her wand and Draco was left in the dark, a blush rising in his cheeks and the memory of Hermione Granger's warm body still tingling on his fingers.

* * *

It was the screaming that woke him.

He started awake and for a moment, in the unfamiliar darkness, it was as if he was back in Malfoy Manor, and his Aunt Bellatrix was downstairs with a knife and a victim and the old, crippling fear came flooding back – but then he looked around, and saw the embers of the dying fire, and remembered where he was.

Hermione was having a nightmare. She was tossing and turning in the bed, whimpering and whining. Every so often she'd let out a little scream or a yelp of pain that faded back into the frantic muttering.

He crossed over to her bed. He placed his hand on her shoulder – it was hot and clammy – and shook her awake. She started awake at once, panting as if she'd just run a marathon and staring up at him with real fear in her eyes, but then she relaxed, and slumped back onto her pillows, shaking.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

She nodded, covering her face with her hands. When she spoke, her voice was thick with tears. "It was…it was just a dream. A memory, really."

It finally dawned on him.

She'd been dreaming of Malfoy Manor. About what had happened under his own roof just months ago, when his own relative had tortured her. He had the same dream, sometimes, when Hermione's screams rang through his house…

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

She looked up at him through her fingers.

"I would've stopped her, if I could. I hated what she did to you. What they all did."

His hand was tangled in her hair, stroking it gently.

"I…I wish I could've done something to help."

She smiled up at him in the darkness. It was a broken, brave little thing, but it was still a smile, and it was his.

"I know. I could tell you didn't want to be there from the way you looked at us."

"It's not that," he muttered, "not being there wouldn't have been enough. It's bad enough that I saw it happen, but it should have never happened at all. Not to you."

For a long time he stood by Hermione's bedside, waiting for her to speak. She said nothing, but nor did she cry, or scream, or send him away, and so he stayed with her until her shoulder had stopped shaking and her breathing was slow and deep.

He sloped back over to the armchair, his heavy eyelids already drooping, and collapsed back into it, pulling his robe up to his chin like a blanket.

He almost missed the little voice in the darkness.

"Thank you, Draco."


	11. Chapter 11

Hey guys! Here is the latest chapter, hope you enjoy it! Thanks to snapplexo for the review, I really appreciate all your feedback :) as always, please remember to r&r and never forget that I am not JK Rowling, I'm just playing with her toys. Enjoy!

* * *

He'd left before she opened her eyes.

As always, the nightmare had left Hermione feeling completely drained, and by the time she'd woken up it was long past ten o'clock. Weak, watery sunlight was streaming in through the window and into her empty office. But for the blanket on the chair and the two mugs of tea on the table, there was no sign that Draco Malfoy had ever even been there.

She let out a sigh of relief.

Last night had been an incredibly strange experience. Hermione had never thought that she would have been able to sleep in the presence of a former Death Eater. She had enough trouble doing that on her own. It wasn't as bad as it had been over the summer, but every time she closed her eyes she'd find her way back to Malfoy Manor. Hermione thanked her lucky stars that Bellatrix Lestrange was one of the Death Eaters killed in the Battle of Hogwarts – if she'd been one of those who escaped she would never have been able to sleep at all.

But not only had she fallen asleep in the presence of Draco Malfoy; she had told him about her nightmares and he – _Draco Malfoy_, of all people – had comforted her. And when she'd fallen asleep again the nightmares had not returned.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd had a good night's sleep, and it was all thanks to him.

Hermione hauled herself out of bed, yawned sedately and stretched her aching limbs. She felt better than she had in weeks. She crossed over to the desk and began cleaning their mugs away, and cast a quick Refreshment charm on the red lilies. They sprang back to life at once, full and gleaming again.

She hadn't thrown them out, in the end. It had seemed rude, somehow, even when she had stormed back to her office after Draco had insulted her. And now, after their night together, she wanted to throw them out even less.

One of the mugs slipped from her fingers. It smashed on the floor and cold tea spattered all over the carpet. Hermione bent down, quickly, her cheeks burning.

They had _not_ spent the night together.

They had simply spent the night in each other's company, in the same room, and in a perfectly friendly and fully-clothed way. That, she was well aware, was _not_ what people meant when they said they'd 'spent the night together'. Nothing had happened between them: he'd just drunk her tea, driven off her nightmares and picked her up as though she weighed next to nothing and laid her down on the bed and…

Hermione jumped up at once. Her face was scarlet. She threw on her school uniform as quickly as she could and ran down to the greenhouses, cold, damp air biting at her cheeks and nose.

She pushed open the door of Greenhouse Four and forced herself to think about Bubotubers.

* * *

Ordinarily, Hermione would have been grateful for the sweet, empty hours of the weekend. Ordinarily, she would have seized on the opportunity to finish off the last paragraph of her Potions essay, or to fill in another internship application, or to spend another few hours in the greenhouses. The work wasn't always easy, but sometimes that was better; she could forget about her nightmares, or the complete lack of communication from Ron, and when she was finished she would lean back in her chair and smile a satisfied smile.

Today, however, none of her usual tactics were working.

Ever since she had woken up and run down to the greenhouses, her mind kept straying back to Draco. The fading bruises on his cheeks had been bothering her all day. He'd been beaten – badly, by the looks of it, as Madame Pomfrey didn't usually leave bruises after her healing had finished.

What had happened to him? He was a good dueller, she knew – Voldemort had kept him from completing his seventh year for a reason – and unless he was fighting Hermione he was a resourceful opponent. Besides, she thought, a blush spreading across her cheeks, he was tall, lean and clearly much stronger than she'd supposed, if he'd been able to lift her like that. That would have made it much more difficult to get the better of him in a fist fight.

She hesitated for a moment, and then headed for Gryffindor Tower. She was there in minutes, and after she had climbed through the portrait hole and smiled her way out of Charlie Jackson's path, she headed straight for the girls' dormitories.

Ginny was sitting on her bed again, as though she hadn't moved since the last time they'd seen each other. She was poring over an essay, textbooks strewn around her and ink splattered across the sheets. She looked up, saw Hermione coming in and sprang off her bed to hug her friend, knocking over her ink bottle in her enthusiasm.

"Hermione! Have you got a minute?"

Hermione smiled and perched on the end of Ginny's bed, looking down at the essay. "Potions?"

Ginny nodded. "The one about dragon's blood. Do you know why it can be used as an oven cleaner _and_ an ink? Wouldn't it just leave marks everywhere?"

"Oh no, it just depends on what you mix it with. It's all to do with the mixing agent…" Hermione began, as Ginny reached for her quill and another piece of parchment. She scribbled down every word of Hermione's explanation and, when she had finished, beamed down at the piece of paper.

"Excellent! Thanks, Hermione, this'll really help!" She peered up at her, pushing her long red hair out of her eyes. "You look nice."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Do I?"

Ginny laughed. "Of course you do! All sort of…full, and whole."

Hermione laughed too. "You sound like I've grown back an arm, or something."

Ginny was not listening. She was squinting at Hermione in an incredibly suspicious way, her brown eyes narrowed.

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

Hermione almost fell off the bed. "What? No!"

"Because pregnant women are supposed to look like that."

"I'm not pregnant, Ginny! I just had a good night's sleep."

Ginny grinned at her. "Bet Ron will be pleased to hear that!"

Hermione tried to keep smiling. She could feel it slipping, and from the way Ginny was looking at her – her brows furrowed and her eyes narrowed – she knew that it was showing.

"You have heard from Ron, haven't you?"

She shook her head.

"Hermione, are you OK?"

She nodded, as brightly as she could, and immediately launched into the story of Draco's mysterious bruises to stop Ginny looking at her with pity in her eyes. Of course, she altered it a little – she did not tell Ginny that Draco had spent the night in her room, and made it sound more as if she'd noticed the bruises while passing him in the corridor. By the time she had finished her story, Ginny's eyebrows had disappeared into her flaming red hair.

"You think he's being bullied?" she said, "Draco Malfoy, of all people, is being bullied?"

Hermione nodded.

"I don't know what to say," said Ginny, running her hands through her hair, "but I suppose I can see why. After everything he's done, people are going to be mad at him. Still, I suppose he had it coming, if you think about it. He's lucky he hasn't been prosecuted for what he did to the Khong family."

A chill ran down Hermione's spine as she thought about the Khong family. She could still remember the news story from the Daily Prophet…

"But he really does seem like he's trying to change," she said, pushing it from her mind, "he actually apologised for all the things that happened at Malfoy Manor, even though none of them were his fault. I…I just think it's unfair for someone not to be given a second chance when they're trying so hard to make it work. You're sure you haven't heard anything?"

Ginny shook her head, her eyebrows still raised.

"You seem awfully concerned about Draco Malfoy," she said, and Hermione could feel the coldness seeping out from her words. She blushed.

"Well, I have to be. I'm Head Girl, it's part of my job to look after the students."

Ginny leaned back on her pillows, watching Hermione carefully, but she said nothing more.


	12. Chapter 12

Next chapter! Hope you all enjoy it, and special thanks to kvance for the review :) always appreciate any feedback you guys can give me!

* * *

Draco had gone to great pains to ensure that Hermione never found the notes.

Halloween had come and gone, marked by the usual pumpkin-based parties that Draco did his best to avoid. This year had been no different. He'd hidden up in his dormitory, the curtains around his bed closed, and ate five Pumpkin Pasties while he read through his Transfiguration notes. Now, it was November, and a cold wind was rattling the glass in every window.

So far, he had received four notes.

Each one warned him to stay away from Hermione Granger. They were never handwritten; each one was made up of letters cut out from the Daily Prophet. Each had a curse attached to it. One had burned his fingertips like acid when he touched it and another had leapt up off his pillow and tried to strangle him. He hadn't opened the other two; he'd thrown them straight onto the fire in the boys' dormitory.

They had both exploded.

He had never told Hermione about them. In truth, they didn't really bother him much; he knew she would be far more disturbed than he was. The Malfoys had always had enemies, only now there were more of them – such things were to be expected. His father had always said that a wizard was never truly great unless he'd made a few enemies…

Hermione, he knew, would never see it like that.

He sat down at their library table, tucked away in the corner, and waited for her to arrive. His marks had shot up since she'd started tutoring him, but he was still very shaky and hadn't covered all the material from sixth year. There was no question of stopping these sessions, not when he had so much more to learn, and so he got out his books and stacked them up in a defensive wall – just the way Hermione liked it – and waited for her to arrive.

She skidded into the library, hair flying, and collapsed in the chair next to him.

"Sorry I'm late," she gasped, her face red from running, "I got cornered by the Gobstones Team. Someone's talked them into setting up an international league and they want me to set it up for them, I've been avoiding them for weeks! Shall we get started?"

He smiled, careful not to look too closely into her bright, brown eyes, and pulled out a few sheets of parchment, a quill and an inkpot from his bag.

An envelope fell onto the desk.

It was not addressed to him but Draco recognised it instantly. The envelopes were always the same: heavy, white parchment with a black band running around the flap. They reminded Draco of the ones his mother had used to send out the invitations to Grandpa Abraxas's funeral.

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes raking over the black band on the envelope.

"Hadn't you better open that, Draco?" she said, her voice very quiet, "it…it looks important…"

"It's nothing," he said, eyeing the envelope warily. It didn't seem cursed, although he knew they always were. Perhaps something was tucked inside it…

"Look, we don't have to have a session tonight," Hermione whispered. She reached out and squeezed Draco's hand and electricity ran right up his arm. He tugged it out of her grasp and she sat back in her chair as though she was ashamed of herself.

"I told you, it's nothing!" he hissed, and grabbed the envelope.

It burst into flames.

He leapt back at once, flames licking up the sleeve of his robes, and dropped the envelope. The burning envelope landed on a pile of parchment which caught fire at once. Smoke billowed up into the air, Madam Pince hurtled towards their table and Hermione screamed "Aguamenti!"

A jet of water streamed out of the end of her wand and quenched the flames in an instant. Madam Pince shrieked in fury, snatching up every last library book off their table as the envelope smouldered, still hissing and spitting steam. The last pieces of parchment crumbled away, and only the message was left behind.

STAY AWAY FROM HERMIONE GRANGER

Hermione stared at him.

Draco snatched up the damp letter and pushed it onto his sleeve, putting out the last smoking shreds of his school robes. He didn't look at her. Everyone in the library was staring at them.

"I'd better get up to the hospital wing," he muttered, pushing past her. He'd barely made it two steps down the corridor before she was running after him, her books and bag forgotten.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"Out of the way, Granger!" he snarled, pushing past her with his good hand.

"Who sent you that letter?"

"It's none of your –"

"Is it the only one? Are there more?"

"Just drop it, Granger! It's nothing!"

"It is not nothing!" she hissed. She darted in front of him, spreading her arms wide and blocking his path. "Your hand got set on fire, you've been beaten up more than once – that's not _nothing_!"

"Get out of the way, Granger!"

She took a step towards him, glaring right into his grey eyes. She was very close, far too close – close enough to kiss her, if that was what he wanted…

"Draco," she said, "you don't have to put up with this. Someone's got it in for you and they're not afraid to hurt you. What you did…it was bad, I'm not denying that, but you don't deserve to be persecuted when you're trying to make things better."

He said nothing.

When she spoke, Hermione's voice was soft, and so quiet that he had to lean in to hear it.

"You're a good person, Draco. You've done some bad things, but you aren't rotten to the core. I've seen people like that, and you aren't one of them. Dumbledore believed you were a good person, and so do I."

He froze.

She was staring at him, her brown eyes wide and serious and something was swelling in his chest like a huge balloon.

"Dumbledore said that?"

She nodded.

Draco had nothing to say. He stood in the middle of the corridor, too shocked to do anything more than blink. Dumbledore had believed in him, even after everything he'd done…

He made no complaints as Hermione threaded her arm through his and steered him up towards the hospital wing.


	13. Chapter 13

New chapter! FINALLY. I meant to post this one a lot earlier, but life kept getting in the way. :P So many reviews! Special thanks go to kvance, Amaranth01, Tatharwen, Brigitte Nons and snapplexo for your feedback - really appreciate it :) hope you guys enjoy the chapter - it's a little on the short side but I'm hoping to be able to post more frequent updates this week :) Enjoy!

* * *

After she'd left Draco in the hospital wing, Hermione headed up to Professor McGonagall's office. She hadn't told him she was going, of course. She could just picture his flashing grey eyes, his stubborn mouth if he found out she'd told Professor McGonagall about the letters – no, it was best that he didn't know.

After she'd explained everything, Professor McGonagall had thanked her and said that she would keep an eye on him, but unless he came to her himself, there was very little she could do. The Headmistress had waved Hermione out with a brief, kind smile, but by the time she had closed her office door behind her Hermione's hands were shaking.

Draco was being threatened – attacked, even – and she was doing nothing about it. Admittedly Draco didn't want the Headmistress to know that he was being threatened in the first place, but Hermione wasn't just going to stand by and let her friend suffer while the person sending those letters got away with it.

Because Draco _was_ her friend. She couldn't have said exactly when they'd forgotten their enmity and their friendship had begun – some days all the old feelings flared up again, and others they were completely alien to her, as though she was looking into someone else's thoughts. He had become her friend so slowly, so suddenly, so strongly that it was hard to imagine how she had managed without him.

He was her friend.

And she wasn't going to let him suffer.

* * *

The first December snow was trailing down the window pane. Every room in the castle glowed with golden candlelight and the soft, rich smells of roasting turkey wafted through the corridors.

There were only a few days left until the Yule Ball and the start of the Christmas holidays, and Hermione was busier than ever. Aside from all her normal duties she was constantly dodging bunches of mistletoe and hopeful-looking fourth years, and she barely had time to knit so much as a blanket for the Hogwarts house elves. Her every waking moment was crammed with work, she'd barely had time to think about getting herself a dress.

A dress for the Yule Ball, which McGonagall had personally told her she had to attend…

Hermione dropped her quill. Ink splattered all across the prefect rota and fear clutched at her insides.

She had nothing to wear.

If this had been an ordinary Yule Ball, Hermione wouldn't have batted an eye. She would have borrowed something of Ginny's, or altered something of hers, and skulked off with Harry and Ron if she got embarrassed about her dress. But this year – judging by all the love letters – she would be the centre of attention. Her appearance would be scrutinised and discussed by the entire school at the very least – possibly by the entire wizarding world if Rita Skeeter ignored the restraining order again.

"Accio catalogue!"

A small, glossy catalogue flew across the room and into Hermione's hand. She flicked through the pages of smiling, waving witches at lightning speed, picked a dress at random and placed an express order. She signed her name with a flourish and the order form disappeared in a puff of smoke. A few seconds later, a parcel materialised out of thin air and dropped onto her prefect rota. Hermione tossed it onto her bed, the material inside rustling.

If only it was that easy to contact Ron.

* * *

The wind rattled the glass panes of the greenhouses. Hermione shivered. Even though she was wearing every woolly item of clothing she had managed to cram into her trunk – and a pair of Professor Sprout's fluffy earmuffs – she was still freezing. She was in Greenhouse Three and forcing fat, struggling Mandrakes into tiny knitted jumpers, her fingers stiff with the cold.

She was still no closer to finding out who had sent Draco those notes.

He hadn't said anything else on the subject, not one word. Every time she tried to bring it up he folded his arms and glared at her until she changed the subject. All she'd been able to get out of him was that he'd received more than one of them and they were never sent in with the normal post owls.

She stuffed another Mandrake back into its pot, thinking hard.

That must mean that someone would have to be delivering them by hand, or perhaps by magic. From what she understood, the Slytherin dorms were underground, so it was unlikely that they were being levitated in through the window – as Lee Jordan had done in their fifth year, when he had levitated a Niffler into Umbridge's office. No, she thought, as she pulled up the next squirming plant – the windows were unlikely. Either someone was sneaking into the Slytherin dorms, or the letters were being put into Draco's bag when he was walking around the school.

She sighed, forced the last Mandrake into its tiny jumper and sat back on her haunches.

Her list of suspects was not narrowed down in the slightest. Anyone could have slipped Malfoy those letters, and half the school already had a motive. He was a former Death Eater, he'd made more than enough enemies to warrant a few threats. And as for her – well, before this year began she could count the number of proposals she'd received on the Giant Squid's fingers. Now, people were in _love_ with her – and all it would take for someone to see one of her heated exchanges with Draco Malfoy to make them think that Hermione needed protecting from him.

No, thought Hermione as she straightened up and headed for the door, it was going to take a lot more work to get to the bottom of this.


	14. Chapter 14

Next chapter! :D I like this one :) special thanks go to bluebook1496, kvance and Ariel for you reviews - as ever, feedback is always welcome and totally appreciated :) Also, I am not JK Rowling, I'm just playing with her toys. Enjoy!

* * *

Draco had hoped that Hermione wouldn't notice the burn marks on his fingers.

When he'd slouched back into the dorm after another session in the library another black-bordered envelope had been waiting for him on his bed. He'd been careful not to touch it. He'd just cast the levitation charm – intending to float it over to the fireplace – but the second the spell had been cast the damn thing burst into flames and zoomed towards his face. He'd managed to bat it away and fling it into the fireplace, but the ends of his hair had been singed and the skin had blistered all across his hands.

That had been two days ago, and the skin on his fingers was still red raw. The shiny skin on his fingers twinged painfully as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder and entered the library. He slunk over to their desk at the back, ignoring the suspicious looks from everyone he passed.

Hermione was waiting for him. She smiled up at him in a distracted sort of way, and her eyes flickered over his stinging hands. A little crease appeared in between her eyebrows.

"Are those burns?"

He shrugged and sat down next to her, pulling his shirtsleeves further down his arms. He'd tuck his hands right back up inside his sleeves, if he could.

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"How did you –"

"Never mind," he snapped, dropping his bag onto the desk in what he hoped was a very final sort of way. It did not work – Hermione's eyes narrowed even further.

"It was from one of those letters, wasn't it?"

He said nothing. She sighed.

"You know, you aren't fooling anyone. Everyone knows someone's got it in for you after that letter caught fire in the library, there's no point keeping quiet about it now. Why don't you go to McGonagall and –"

"No."

"Well, why not?"

Draco looked down at his burned fingers. His red skin gleamed up at him.

He could have gone to McGonagall, it was true. Or to Slughorn, or to any other teacher in this place – but he would never have dreamed of doing it. Teachers solved other people's problems, people who couldn't fix them by themselves. Malfoys solved their _own_ problems.

And besides, it wasn't as if he didn't deserve those letters, after what he'd done…

"Look, can we not talk about this now?" he muttered, "I've just been told my Charms essay is sub-par and frankly, Granger, I'm too distraught to think of anything else."

To his amazement, she snorted with laughter. She ducked behind a stack of books to avoid Madam Pince's steely glare and grinned up at him, her bright eyes shining.

He'd never made her laugh before.

His face suddenly felt very hot.

"Come on then," she said, still smiling, "hand us your essay, I'll see what I can do with it."

He pulled a roll of parchment out of his bag and handed it to her. She took it from him, unrolled it and at once her deep brown eyes darted across the paper. She read quickly, silently, and chewed her bottom lip as her eyes danced across the page.

He couldn't stop looking at her. Somehow, when he looked at her, it was easier to ignore the pain smarting in his fingers.

She straightened up. "It's not too bad, considering. There's no major structural flaws and it flows well; you just need to make sure you widen your focus. It's no good just talking about the effects of the Bubble-Head Charm alone, you'll need to compare the theorists' opinions as well…"

She leaned forward. Her arm brushed against his and heat exploded in his cheeks.

"See here, this would have been a perfect place to talk about Widdershins' latest piece in _The Apprentice's Guide_ about the effectiveness of…"

Her hair was spilling out of its ponytail and tickling across his shoulder. It was long, far longer than he remembered it being, and curls sprang out of her flimsy hair-tie with explosive force. The strands of her hair kept falling down across his shoulder, as though they wanted to touch him…

It was really very difficult to pay attention to Professor Flitwick's sharp, spidery comments on the margins of his essay.

* * *

They'd ended up in the library for hours, and by the time Hermione had finished writing out his reading list – which was only a little bit shorter than the library catalogue – a clock was chiming ten somewhere in the castle and Madam Pince was chivvying them out of library. The two of them gathered up their books as she shooed out a crowd of harassed-looking Ravenclaws and dawdled down the corridors, clutching piles of books to their chests.

They did not say anything to each other.

Draco thought about saying something – anything – but every single sentence that popped into his head sounded unbearably stupid. _So, what've you got planned for the holidays? _- too banal, everyone had probably asked her that already. _Heard from Weasley lately?_ – No, not Weasley, he didn't want to talk about _him_ at all, least of all to his girlfriend. _Reckon the snow will last?_ – oh Merlin, no, not the weather, that was worse than talking about Weasley…

"So," said Hermione, her voice ringing around the empty corridor.

He jumped. She wasn't looking at him, but staring out of the window, watching another fall of snow slide down the glass.

"Good snow this year."

The torches flickered in the silence.

"Yeah."

"How long do you think it'll last?"

He shrugged, and one of his books dropped to the floor. He bent down to pick it up.

"Do you…do you think it'll last until the Yule Ball?" asked Hermione.

Her voice was shaking. He'd never heard it so high, either. It was almost as if she was nervous, but when he looked up at her, he could not see her face.

He straightened up.

"I don't know," he said, "maybe."

Merlin's pants, thought Draco, think of something to say…

"Do you think you'll go this year?" she asked.

He froze.

She was still staring out the window. Her voice was carefully casual but she still wouldn't look at him – she was cradling her books to her chest like a child and all her could see of her was her back, her mane of brown curls, and the backs of her well-shaped legs disappearing into the folds of her grey school skirt…

What was she thinking? What would she say, if he put his hand on her shoulder and turned her round to face him? Would she mind? Would she blush? Would she smile?

He cleared his throat.

"I don't know," he said, and now his own voice was shaking and sweat was prickling on the palms of his hands. The torchlight flickered on her hair, casting brilliant bronze lights right through it. It was mesmerising.

He cleared his throat again.

"I'm not sure if people would want me to be there."

Her shoulders sagged.

"Is that what you think?"

Her voice was heavy now, and for some reason her words filled him with inexplicable dread. It reminded him of the time when he was eight and had smashed his mother's favourite vase. He'd bumped into its cabinet while playing Trolls and there was a moment when it lurched towards the edge and he had known it was going to break. That old feeling was flooding through him now – a deep, childish fear that something was about to be broken…

"I'd better go," she said, still not looking at him, "it's getting late."

She left, without looking back.


	15. Chapter 15

Another chapter! And this one's a long one, I spoil you guys :P special thanks go to JessicaRavenGlade, bluebook1496, InsaniumArtisan and Ariel for your reviews - as always, feedback is TEH BOMB and I love it. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Hermione had forgotten all about the Yule Ball until two hours before it was supposed to start. She was sitting in her office, re-reading her Charms notes when there was a sharp knock on the door. The spell flickered, and for a split second she saw through the wooden surface. It was Ginny.

"Come in!"

She pushed the door open. Her long red hair was piled on top of her head and she was wearing a green dressing gown, and the moment she saw Hermione her mouth fell open in horror.

"You look nice," said Hermione, smiling, "going somewhere special?"

"Yes," she said, "and so are you! Hermione, we've only got two hours until the ball starts! You've got to get ready!"

Hermione froze. It felt as if a bucket of ice had been thrown into her stomach.

"W-What? That's _today_?"

"Yes!" Ginny snapped, hauling her to her feet, "Merlin's pants, have you even washed your hair? How could you forget it was today, what've you been doing?"

She ran her hands through her hair, leaving streaks of ink across her forehead. Ginny winced.

"I've been…are you sure it's today, Ginny?"

"Yes!"

Hermione darted back to her bedside table. She grabbed her dress – still wrapped up in its brown paper packaging – and a towel before Ginny shooed her out of her office and down the corridor towards the prefects' bathrooms.

* * *

In the end, they had only just made it.

She'd showered, scrubbed the ink off her fingers and dried her hair so fast that when she'd finished, it had looked like a dandelion clock. She'd spent fifteen minutes creeping around the corridors with a towel wrapped around her head while Ginny sniggered uncontrollably, and ten more minutes trying to buy a bottle of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion from a well-groomed Ravenclaw coming out of the communal bathrooms. The pair of them had raced back to Gryffindor Tower, flattened down Hermione's Bride-of-Frankenstein hair when Hermione realised she'd left her shoes in her office.

"Oh, Hermione!" Ginny had wailed.

In the end, Ginny had sent a love-struck second year down to Hermione's office with the words 'it's for Hermione Granger' and he'd re-appeared in ten minutes, holding her shoes as if they were made of diamonds. His name was Oliver Tipple, and Hermione promised him she would dance with him at the ball before the rest of the seventh-year girls wrestled her back into the dorm to fix her make-up and force her into her dress.

And now, with only five minutes to spare, the last brush of powder had been applied and the seventh-year Gryffindor girls stepped back to let Hermione see herself in the mirror.

It wasn't what she'd been expecting.

It wasn't that she didn't like it, it wasn't _that_ at all. Her dress was beautiful – a strapless, glittering silver thing with a very full skirt. It wasn't like the dress robes she'd worn in fourth year – much closer to something a Muggle might have worn – but Hermione had noticed that since Voldemort had been defeated everyone was suddenly keen to embrace Muggle culture. It hadn't surprised her that the latest fashions were a far cry from traditional wizard dress, not with Voldemort's legacy hanging over them all…

And it wasn't the rest of her, either. The Gryffindor girls hadn't been able to get rid of Hermione's curls completely, but they'd swept them up into an elegant knot on the back of her head and she no longer looked as though she'd been electrocuted. They'd done a good job on her make-up too. It was very subtle – her lashes were longer, the dark circles under her eyes were hidden and her lips seemed fuller – so subtle that she had to look hard to see where they'd put it in the first place.

No, it wasn't that.

But it wasn't what she'd been expecting. It was almost as if something was missing, some kind of inner certainty that had been taken away from her…

"You look great," said Ginny, giving her shoulders a squeeze, "come on. We'd better head downstairs."

* * *

The Great Hall was beautiful.

As Hermione entered, she thought for a moment that the walls had vanished and that they'd stepped straight into the snowy grounds of Hogwarts. Enormous Christmas trees lined the wall, each decorated in delicate silver, and the enchanted ceiling was glittering with stars and snow. Tiny candles floated around the ceiling in little clusters, and white drapes had been spread across the floor and tables.

The whiteness of it all made her eyes hurt a little, and Ginny laughed. She was resplendent in robes like a red sheath, and as she waved and smiled to her friends across the hall Hermione felt a little stab of envy. She could feel the eyes trained on her face; she would have given anything for Ginny's easy confidence.

Ginny threaded her arm through Hermione's and steered her across the dance floor, where her friends were waiting. Hermione knew most of them by sight, but she'd barely said two sentences together to Ginny's friends all term, she'd just been so busy…

She smiled nervously at each of them in turn until the band started to play and somebody tapped her on the small of her back. She turned and saw Oliver Tipple, his dark head barely higher than her waist, bowing and holding out his hand with a hopeful expression on his face.

She took his hand and led him onto the dance floor, smiling.

* * *

As it turned out, the dance she had with tiny Oliver Tipple was the best she had at the Yule Ball. He'd spent the whole song staring at his feet and stammering, but when the song had ended he'd squeaked his thanks, blushed scarlet and ran back to his friends, his eyes shining.

The rest of Hermione's dance partners had not been nearly so gentlemanly. They'd trodden on her dress, looked her up and down and held her fingers in a vice-like grip, as though worried she might escape. As the night wore on they only got worse and, at half past ten, Charlie Jackson finally made his move.

He staggered up to her, lurching through the couples on the dancefloor and collapsed into the seat next to her. He pulled out a tiny silver bottle from his pocket and offered it to her. The smell of Firewhiskey stung her nostrils.

"No thank you, Charlie," she said, smiling as politely as she could. He scowled at her, folding his arms moodily and slipping the bottle back into his pocket.

"Fancy a dance?" he said, slurring a little as he spoke.

"I couldn't possibly," she said, her false smile still in place, "I'm exhausted."

"Come on," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders, "I'm a good dancer, I swear."

Hermione peeled his arm off her shoulders. "I'm sure you are."

"Oh come on, Granger!" he said, seizing her hands in his meaty fists, "dance with me! I'm a nice guy, you know I am! Just one little dance, go on…"

"I'm sure you're very nice, Charlie," she said, staring around the hall for Ginny. She was nowhere to be seen.

"I am," he said, nodding, "I'm always looking out for you. That Malfoy kid bothers you again, I'll teach him a lesson. No Death Eater's gonna mess with Gryffindor girls, not while I'm around."

Her head snapped up. She glared at him but Charlie was oblivious, a slightly unfocused grin plastered across his face.

"What do you mean, teach Malfoy a lesson?"

He grinned at her. "You know, rough him up a bit, like I did last time. You don't need to worry about him giving you trouble, I'll look after you."

Draco's bruised face and cut lip flashed across her mind's eye. She tugged her hands from Charlie's grip and jumped to her feet.

"I can look after myself," she snapped, glaring down at him, "goodnight, Charlie."

She was out of the Great Hall before he could stop her. She ran up the marble staircase, clutching her skirts, and as she ran she heard him crashing through the dancefloor and shouting after her. She did not stop, not even once, not until she had put four flights of stairs between herself and Charlie Jackson.

For a moment she just stood in the corridor, fists clenched and teeth set, listening to the distant sounds of the music. Charlie wasn't following her any more – she'd heard him give up, swearing, at the foot of the marble staircase – but she was still furious.

He'd been the one who'd given Draco all those bruises…

Was he also the one who'd been giving Draco all those letters?

She shook her head angrily and took several deep breaths. Even though she would've liked nothing better than to shout and scream at him, being angry with Charlie Jackson wouldn't do her any good. She needed to be calm and thinking clearly if she was going to prove he'd been sending those letters.

She turned on her heel and headed for the library. She'd just sit there for a minute and breathe in the smell of the books. No-one would be there now, not on the last night of term when the Yule Ball was in full swing. She could just sit there in peace and pretend that she really had forgotten this horrible night…

She pushed the door open.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the library, bent over a pile of books and academic journals. For a moment she wanted to run, but then he looked up and saw her.

His mouth fell open.

"Hermione."


	16. Chapter 16

Aaaaand another chapter! So I just had a lot more time than I thought I would today and this chapter just sprung from the depths of my subconscious so...yeah. Here it is. Thanks to resina for the review - so glad you liked it :) I love feedback so please feel free to share your opinions. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Draco stared at Hermione.

He'd never seen her like this before. For a split second, he hadn't even realised it was her. As she swept through the library doors, her silver skirts brushing against the library floor she'd seemed to shine. The torchlight flickered across her dress and in her hair and as she moved through the library she'd seemed to bring the light with her.

Hermione Granger had never looked like _that_ before.

What the hell _was_ this?

"Hermione."

Her brown eyes widened.

"Oh. Hello."

They stared at each other. Hermione's dress was glittering quietly in the torchlight, and Draco was suddenly incredibly aware of the ink all over his fingertips.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the Yule Ball?"

She grimaced, and in that moment she became herself again. "I thought I'd get an early night. It wasn't going well."

He smiled, and pulled out the chair next to him so she could sit down. "Why's that?"

She sat down next to him very carefully, sweeping her long skirts out of the way of the chair legs. "Oh, you know," she said, "I didn't really know anyone there apart from Ginny. I did try and dance with some people but it was just awful, I can't even feel my feet any more and a few of them got a bit…well, a bit too enthusiastic."

Draco frowned. "They didn't grab you or anything, did they?"

"No, nothing like that."

He sat back in his chair, mollified. "Good."

She smiled at him, and heat crept up past his collar.

"So, did you actually get to do any dancing or were you just hiding from your boyfriends all night?" he said, smirking at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I do not have boyfriends, Draco Malfoy. And yes, I did get to have a dance. I just wasn't very good at it."

Draco raised his eyebrows. He didn't remember Hermione Granger as a bad dancer. He'd seen her at the last Yule Ball. When Pansy hadn't been pouting furiously in his direction he'd seen her whirl around the dance floor as if she'd been doing it all her life. It had surprised him; he hadn't thought she would have danced like that at all.

"Well, no surprises there," he said, sighing loudly, "everyone knows Gryffindors can't dance."

She laughed. "Is that what they say about us?"

"Oh yes," said Draco, nodding solemnly, "two left feet, the lot of you. Now, Slytherins are another matter entirely…"

"Is that so?"

"You're all just stomping around Gryffindor Tower…"

"I could dance you into a _corner_, Draco Malfoy. I doubt you could even keep up with me."

He grinned.

"Well, let's put that to the test, shall we?"

He couldn't have said what made him do it. He'd heard the music all evening, floating up through the floors of the castle, but now it seemed louder than ever. Perhaps it was that, or perhaps it was the many hours of studying alone in the deserted library while he listened to the school having fun without him, or perhaps it was just Hermione Granger, sitting there in her gleaming silver dress and looking like some kind of blessing…

Perhaps it was all of those things, or perhaps it was something much deeper. Something he'd seen in her deep brown eyes, in her spiralling curls, or in her red lips…but something, whatever it was, was making him push his chair aside and hold out his hand to her as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

She hesitated. Her lips were slightly parted and a blush had crawled into her cheeks, and for a moment he just stood there with his hand held out towards her and felt like a complete idiot.

But then, she took it.

He lead her out into the middle of the library, his heart pounding, as the rhythm of a waltz floated up the many flights of stairs. She put her warm hand on his shoulder – he could feel her fingers through his shirt – and, swallowing nervously, he put one hand on her waist.

She smiled at him, looking almost as nervous as he felt. "Ready?"

He nodded.

Slowly, they began to move.

At first their dance was a slow, halting thing as they tried to disentangle the rhythm of the waltz from the mass of voices coming from the Great Hall. But then their feet settled into the beat, and the music seemed to swell around them. Draco held Hermione in his arms as they whirled around the room, effortlessly, seamlessly. They were no longer moving like two separate people – as his fingers curled around hers and his hand tightened on her waist, it seemed to Draco that they'd gone far beyond the point where two people were just dancing.

It was better than that.

He'd danced before, and the dancing hadn't given him this strange lightness in his chest that seemed to spread through every muscle in his body. It was hard to believe that this was the girl – no, he thought, the woman – who he hadn't thought fit to wipe his boots just two short years ago. Now she was something else entirely, something more…

The music faded, and they came to a stop.

Then, reality hit him.

It didn't matter that she was in his arms, her eyes shining up at him as she smiled, because in a few minutes she'd head back up to her office, or to Gryffindor Tower, or to some other place where he could never follow. No matter how much she tried to help him pass his exams or stop the letters exploding on his bed, one way or another he'd end up skulking off back to the Slytherin Common Room and out of her shining, brilliant life where she was adored on all sides. This was their last year at Hogwarts, and once it was over Hermione Granger would waltz off into her bright, gleaming future and he would be left with nothing but his guilt and the Dark Mark burning on his arm.

There was no place for him there.

And even though this moment was about as close to perfect as he thought he would ever get – and far closer to perfect than he _deserved_ to get – it was only a moment. They were listening to other people's music, dancing to someone else's waltz, and he was holding someone else's girlfriend.

It was a borrowed moment – a stolen, guilty dance – and he knew he was standing in Weasley's shoes.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder.

"What is it?"

He couldn't make himself look at her. He didn't deserve to look at her.

"Nothing," he muttered. "You should get to bed; the train leaves early tomorrow morning. You'll want your sleep."

She didn't move. She sighed, but she didn't pull away.

And then, quite suddenly, her arms were around him in a hug so tight he could barely breathe. Her head was on his shoulder, her hair tickled his cheek, her hands pressed against his back and, for one brief, giddy second he could have sworn he felt a brief, feather-light kiss on his shoulder.

"Have a good Christmas," she mumbled into the collar of his shirt.

And then, she was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

Next chapter! Hope you all enjoy it :) Thanks to kvance, 4littlemckay, JessicaRavenGlade, Ariel, Brigitte Nons and bluebook1496 for your reviews, you're spoiling me :P feedback is always welcomed, so please don't be shy to share your opinion!

* * *

Hermione staggered into her office, kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed, shaking. She'd run all the way back from the library and now her heart was pounding and a stitch was flaring in her side as she gasped for breath.

She lay back on her pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

What had just happened?

One moment they'd been talking like two perfectly normal people and the next the pair of them were spinning round the library, Draco's strong hand on her waist and his grey eyes gleaming down at her. There'd barely been any music, they'd hardly had room to do more than spin and there'd been ink all over his hands, but for some reason it had felt exactly like the way she'd pictured dancing at a ball when she was a little girl.

She locked her office door with a wave of her wand and set the kettle on to boil.

There hadn't been anything missing there, either. The doubt she'd been carrying like a hole in her stomach had vanished. It hadn't mattered that the rest of her year were away and she had been left behind, and nor had it mattered that the rest of her evening had left her feeling as if she wanted to sprint right out of the Great Hall. For the first time in a very long while, she had felt right. The certainty that had been taken from her had been restored, for a second, but now it was gone again and she was filled with more doubt than ever.

The kettle began to whistle. Hermione sat up in bed, her ballgown rustling, and waved her wand again. A teabag plopped neatly into a waiting mug and the kettle poured boiling water over it of its own accord. She waited a few minutes, then poured the milk into her tea and vanished the teabag, floating it carefully across to her bedside table.

It was scalding hot; just the way she liked it.

She leant back against her pillows.

She was going to have to think about this.

* * *

In the end, all she decided on was that it would be best for everyone if she left early and didn't make eye contact. She'd been up half the night, her head swimming with doubts and frightening possibilities, and as the cold, grey light of dawn had begun to seep through her window she was no closer to making sense of the night before.

She packed her trunk with a wave of her wand, left a note for Professor McGonagall and headed for the school gates. The moment she had passed through them she stuck out her hand and the Knight Bus appeared from nowhere. She got on board, dragging her trunk behind her, and after an hour of lurching across the top deck her own street slammed into view.

She climbed down gingerly and dragged her trunk over the cobbled streets. The Scottish snows had not swept quite so far south as to reach her home town and she was eternally grateful. It wasn't that she didn't like snow, but every time it snowed in Wispen, Oxfordshire old Mrs Pennyweather down the road would short circuit the electricity by trying to melt it off her front door with a hairdryer. Hermione never worked out just how Mrs Pennyweather managed to cut the entire village's power using just a hairdryer, but she was fairly certain that it had something to do with the tangled mess of extension cords that the old lady always used.

As it was, there was only a little ice on the cobblestones, and Hermione slid over to her front door with only one major wobble.

She knocked.

Her mother opened the door. She had the briefest glimpse of her mother's greying, frizzy hair before Mrs Granger threw her arms around her daughter and pulled her inside. Within seconds she had been supplied with a steaming mug of tea and seated at the kitchen table, and before her mother had time to ask why she was home so early, Hermione had started to cry.

* * *

Christmas was a quiet, strained affair in the Granger household.

They meant well – they always had – but after the revelation that their only daughter had wiped their memories and sent them halfway across the world, Mr and Mrs Granger didn't quite know what to say to Hermione. At first they had been angry – furious, even, and on one memorable July night Hermione had had to go and stay with her Aunt in Oxford for a week – but after a few months apart their anger was finally starting to fade. Hermione had told them everything, even if it did seem a little late for that, and after they'd read some of the Daily Prophet's reports on the former Death Eaters' crimes, they had grudgingly acknowledged the necessity of what she had done.

Still, Hermione had obeyed their wishes and kept her magical activity to a minimum while she was home. She had no owl of her own and received no letters – apart from a brief note from Harry that he'd had the good sense to put in the Muggle post. It wished her a Merry Christmas and invited her to Diagon Alley on the day after New Year's. She'd scribbled back her answer – a hasty _yes, please!_ – and sent it to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Apart from that, she hadn't heard from anyone. She'd appreciated it, in a way – it made it easier to clear her head – but as she climbed into bed every night she would close her eyes and wonder, just for a moment, whether Draco Malfoy would send her a letter.

* * *

Hermione met Harry at ten o'clock on January 2nd, at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. He was looking incredibly pale and had dark circles under his eyes. For a moment she thought he might be ill, but then she suggested he try a cup of Tom's spiced mead to pick him up and a queasy look crept across his face.

"No thanks, Hermione," he muttered, "I think I'll pass."

She grinned at him.

The two of them sauntered down Diagon Alley at a leisurely pace – Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that if they went any faster Harry might throw up – and at length, she discovered the cause of Harry's incredible hangover. The Auror office had thrown a New Year's Eve party, and every year all the new recruits had to make their way through a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. There was more to the initiations, but Harry had gone very red and said that that was all he could remember.

In the end, she'd managed to persuade him to try a pumpkin-spiced Restorative Draft, sold to them hot by a street vendor with a knowing smile, and they'd sat on the wall outside Madam Malkins' while Harry nursed his headache.

He slurped the smoking orange drink and sighed, loudly. "But how've you been, Hermione? Ginny tells me you've ended up tutoring Malfoy. He's not bothering you, is he?"

Hermione almost fell off the wall.

"No, no, not at all!" she said, laughing, as a blush crept into her cheeks, "I've just been helping him out, really."

"How'd you get roped into that one?"

Hermione picked at a hole in her glove. "Well, he asked me."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Just like that?"

"Sort of," she mumbled, pulling at a loose thread, "he said he needed my help. He's having a really tough time of it, actually, he's trying to turn over a new leaf but it isn't easy. He keeps getting beaten up and someone's sending him threats in the post."

Harry raised his eyebrows again. "Oh yeah?"

She nodded. "I think it's Charlie Jackson."

"What, that skinny little fifth year?"

"Sixth year, actually, and he's built like a troll. He's pretty attached to me, as well, I think that might be why he's sending the letters. It's pretty cruel, actually. There's some really nasty curses on those letters."

"Well, after everything he –"

Harry broke off, staring across the street. All of the colour drained out of his face. Hermione followed his gaze, and at once, cold flooded her stomach.

Ron Weasley was standing on the opposite side of the road.


	18. Chapter 18

New chapter! I spoil you, really :P special thanks to harrypottergeekychick16, JessicaRavenGlade, Ariel and bluebook1496 for your reviews - as always, I love hearing your feedback :) hope you enjoy the latest instalment!

* * *

By the time Draco had pulled his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express, his mind was made up. He would not see Hermione Granger again.

He was sure he'd be able to get along without her now. She'd left him a reading list, and he already had the notes he'd made from their previous sessions. His marks were already picking up; he was sure he'd be able to carry on without her help.

By the time his trunk was being carried up to Malfoy Manor, he was certain of it.

It would be better for both of them if he did not see Hermione Granger again.

Draco slipped out of his mother's embrace and up to his bedroom. It was exactly as he had left it: an immaculate four poster bed with soft cream sheets, green silk curtains on the wall and elegant furniture made of dark wood. Mother had never let him put up posters; she said they damaged the walls. It was a bare, sparse room, and all that he really liked about it was the view of the maze. From this height, he could see the rose garden at the centre, and the lake off in the distance.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring into his hands.

He was no fool.

He knew he was becoming far too attached to that Hermione Granger. It'd been sneaking up on him for a while now, but he couldn't ignore it any more. When he saw her he laughed, he smiled, and the weight he'd been carrying on his shoulders began to slip away and soon she was everywhere. In his thoughts, in his dreams, even hidden in the notes that would help him pass his NEWTs.

She was haunting him.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

He sighed, and fell back on his silk sheets.

That wasn't strictly true. If he was a Gryffindor – a great, hulking troll of a Gryffindor like Charlie Jackson – he'd ignore everything that was holding him back and pester her until this little crush went away, but he was a Slytherin, and there was far too much to ignore. She had a boyfriend, for one thing. She was adored by the entire wizarding world and he was despised by it. She had job offers flooding in on all sides, while he could even find a tutor desperate enough to teach him. She had part of the reward for defeating the Dark Lord and his followers and – if the rumours were true – a whole folder full of sponsorship deals, while money was leaking out of Malfoy Manor like water from a sinking ship.

And then there was his father, who despite his public repentance would never be able to look him in the face if he brought a girl like Hermione home for dinner. He'd tried imagining that disaster before and was unable to picture it without at least two people crying.

And what if – his stomach gave a little flip at the thought – she actually did want to take up with him? What could he offer her then? She'd have to turn her back on everything and everyone for someone with no money, no job prospects and a family who would only despise her. What woman in her right mind would want to live like that?

He sighed again.

The best thing to do, he thought, would be to avoid her and wait for it to go away. It was just a little crush, and like all his other crushes, it would pass.

* * *

His father drank through Christmas.

His mother smiled through it, but it was a strained, desperate smile, as though she was barely two burnt dinners away from breaking something.

Draco just sat in his room and waited for it to be over.

* * *

Draco saw very little of his father that holiday. He'd locked himself away in his study, and although Draco knocked on his door more than once he very rarely answered it. From behind the ebony door, he could the chink of a bottle on glass and, occasionally, his father's muffled swearing. When Lucius Malfoy answered the door his hair and clothes had clearly just been tugged back into place, and there were large dark circles under his eyes. He very rarely looked at his son, just ruffled his hair in a slightly tipsy way and took whatever Draco had brought him – the Daily Prophet, or a plate of sandwiches – back into his study.

One cold January morning, Draco was standing outside his father's study, newspaper tucked under his arm, when he heard his father shouting.

"No!" he yelled, and from behind the locked door there came the sound of breaking glass, "I won't hear a word of it! After all he's been through I just – no, you stay away from my son!"

Draco's heart began to pound and he flattened his ear up against the study door. Someone else was in there. Someone with a low, rumbling voice that was so deep the words barely made it through the wood.

But he did not have to strain his ears to hear his father.

"No!" Lucius Malfoy cried, "get out! Get OUT!"

Draco flattened himself against the wall, ready for the door to spring open at any second. But nothing happened. Instead, he heard the sounds of his father's armchair being dragged across the floor and a long stream of swear words Draco never thought his father knew.

He crept away from the door, paper still tucked under his arm. He'd give it to him later, once he had calmed down a little. Draco climbed the stairs to his room and sat on the end of his bed, thinking hard.

Someone had been in his father's study. He doubted it was his mother; he could hear her calling up the stairs to her husband, and since that wretched Dobby had got away there was no other being in the household. It was a person, then, and – as it was impossible to Apparate into Malfoy Manor – it was probably someone using the Floo.

But who?

Draco shook his head and unfolded the paper. His father's business was his own, and he knew that no matter how many bottles of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey his father consumed, he would never let anyone hurt his son.

He glanced down at the headline, and his eyes widened.

_HERMIONE GRANGER AND RONALD WEASLEY IN SHOCK WINTER SPLIT_


	19. Chapter 19

New chapter! Hope you guys like it :) special fangz (geddit cos im goffik) to resina, harrypottergeekychick16, Modges and bluebook1496 for your reviews - as always, they were very much appreciated :) please don't be shy to share your opinions, and also remember that none of these characters are mine (I keep forgetting to say this!) apart from a couple of OCs in the background. Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione had expected to see the breakdown of her relationship plastered across the Daily Prophet, but she had not expected just how seriously everyone appeared to take it. She read through the article as quickly as she could. According to the Prophet, both she and Ron had been linked to several other people – and in Ron's case, a Veela – and they had had a public fight which three people had claimed to have witnessed. Their failed relationship was attributed to the pressures of life in the public eye, the stresses of Auror training and – in one baffling column at the end of page seven – the failing economy.

All in all, there were about three pages devoted to their break up.

The only thing that was actually true was the fact that they were no longer together.

She sighed, and went to make herself a cup of tea.

* * *

The second he had seen Ron, Harry had made his excuses and left, casting worried glances over his shoulder. Hermione couldn't have said she blamed him; she hadn't exactly taken Ron's relationship with Lavender well and they weren't even going out then. Of course, she knew now that Harry must have known the way Ron felt about her had changed, but at the time she could only stare across the road, completely perplexed.

He came over to her.

Six months ago, she would have run across the street and thrown herself into his arms. Two months ago, she would have slapped him across the face, or screamed at him, or just refused to see him altogether.

Now, she did nothing.

He smiled nervously at sat next to her on the wall. "Er…hi, Hermione."

"Hello."

"How've you been?"

"Good, thank you. How're you?"

"Good, yeah."

There was a very long silence. Both of them stared out at the street, at the rows of curious passers by turning their heads in their direction or the piles of slushy, dirty snow swept up against the sides of the street.

Hermione cleared her throat.

"It's been a while since I've heard from you."

Ron's ears went pink. "Yeah…yeah. I'm sorry."

"It's OK."

They fell silent again.

"Listen, Hermione…"

She smiled. She knew what was coming next.

"Things have been…well, really weird, lately, and I know I've been a complete prat, but it's just…I don't think…"

She swallowed. Ron sighed, and leant back against the wall.

"This dating stuff is harder than it looks."

She laughed. "It is, isn't it?"

A look of absolute relief washed over Ron's face. He smiled at her, in an apologetic sort of way. "I kind of thought…us going out would make all this stuff easier. That's what they all say, isn't it? It'll just…work."

She smiled too, even though tears were prickling at the corners of her eyes. "We've been lied to, I think."

He laughed. "I think we have."

They stared across the street again.

"So," she said, "what do you want to do?"

He fidgeted, picking at a spot of lichen on the wall. "Well…it's just I'm here and you're still at school, and I've got all the Auror training and I've barely got five minutes to spare, these days and…it's just…"

A lump formed in Hermione's throat. "This is it, isn't it?"

"It's not that I don't like you," he said, his blue eyes earnest, "it's not that at all! It's just that it isn't a good time for me to be seeing anyone and I don't want to mess you about. You…you do understand, right?"

She nodded. She understood far more than Ron was letting on. It wasn't that she didn't believe him. Auror training was a difficult time for anyone, and maintaining a long-distance relationship was difficult enough without the stress of hunting down Dark wizards. But she knew, deep down, that if Ron really loved her he would find a way to make it work, and so would she. Harry was making time for Ginny, and Ginny was making time for him – their relationship would last.

Hers would not.

"It's all right," she had said, patting him on the shoulder, "it really is."

"You aren't angry with me?"

She shook her head. "I've grown up a lot since you went off with Lavender. I'm sorry about the birds thing, by the way."

Ron smiled, and shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

Hermione picked at the hole in her glove, pulling on a loose thread.

"Do you…do you still want to be friends?"

He'd smiled at her, and pulled her into a hug.

"Of course."

That was when she had cried.

* * *

But now, in her meticulously organised bedroom in her parents' neat, tidy home, Hermione was not crying. She'd cried a little, when she'd got home from Diagon Alley, but now, three days later, her eyes were dry. Her fully packed Hogwarts trunk was waiting at the foot of her bed; tomorrow, she would be going back to school.

The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

The last thing she wanted to do now was to go back to school. She wanted to lie on her bed for weeks, far away from prying eyes and sympathetic glances and Charlie Jackson's big, crushing hands. It'd only get worse now the Daily Prophet had reported she was single. Everyone probably knew about it already and she was willing to bet that the second she set foot in the castle she would be swamped with more bloody love letters. And if she did actually find someone that she wanted to go out with, what then? Reporters, cameras, barely an inch of privacy…who would want to go through that just for a couple of dates?

Still, at least Draco would be there, sharp and sarcastic as ever. Draco would laugh at Ron, she was sure, and smile down at her, his soft blond hair falling into his gleaming grey eyes…

She blushed, and shook her head a little.

Yes, Draco _would_ be there, in all his confusing, Slytherin glory, and now there was nothing to stop her from pursuing anyone she wanted to go out with, even him…apart from that hunched, defeated look in his eyes and the way he kept pulling away from her and tugging on his left sleeve.

Draco wouldn't care that she was single now, she was sure of that.

Hermione rolled over and stared at the clock on her bedside table. It was four in the morning. She sighed.

No, she thought, closing her eyes, he wouldn't care about that.


	20. Chapter 20

New chapter! Meant to put this up yesterday but life got in the way. Special thanks to Ariel, kvance, harrypottergeekychick16, bluebook1496 and ariadne0318 for your reviews, I will cherish them forever. :P please don't be shy to read and review, I love hearing your opinions. Hope you like the chapter!

* * *

When Draco returned to Hogwarts, he headed straight for his dorm. He did not linger in the Slytherin Common Room, and the other students were grateful for it. He could feel their staring eyes on the back of his neck as he crossed the room, like a weight pressing down on his shoulders. When he opened the dormitory door, there was a letter waiting for him on his pillow. The black-bordered envelope sat innocently on his emerald-green sheets. He sighed, bundled up his hands in the ends of his sleeves and threw the damn thing onto the fire.

It exploded.

His left arm itched and he scratched at it, absent-mindedly. For a second he stared at the flames, thinking. The curse hadn't been set off when he'd touched it – was a simple layer of cloth really all it took to protect him?

A ghost of his old smirk flittered across his face. He could easily produce a curse better than that. His curses had never been as good as his father's, but it would take far more than a shirtsleeve to protect someone from one of his spells…

He blushed, and looked away from the dancing flames.

It wasn't something to be proud of. _His_ spells had almost landed him in Azkaban.

A rattling, stomping noise outside the dormitory door told him that the other seventh-year boys were coming up to bed. Draco hesitated for a moment, his arm still itching, and then darted for the door.

He did not want to see them.

He was out of the Slytherin Common Room and into the corridors before the rest of his house could so much as look at him. Persephone Khong glared at him as he passed – but then again, she was always glaring at him – but he ignored her and sprinted up the stairs.

Once he had put several flights of stairs between him and the rest of the Slytherins, he could feel a little of the pressure easing off his shoulders. He slowed his pace, keeping to the empty corridors and out of the way of the other students and allowing his mind – and his feet – to wander.

There hadn't been any letters over Christmas. He supposed his parents must have set up wards to keep them away; he would be very surprised if they hadn't received a few exploding letters themselves. But surely his parents' protection wasn't stronger than all the magic that the Hogwarts professors had to offer…

A suit of armour turned its head as he passed, creaking loudly. Draco flinched, and came back down to earth with a bump.

He was outside the library.

He turned around immediately and headed for the end of the corridor. It wasn't safe for him to be here, not after he'd decided to –

"Draco!"

He knew it was her before she'd even spoken. He couldn't say how, but he just knew it.

He turned around.

Hermione Granger was smiling at him, her arms full of books. A Gryffindor scarf was draped loosely around her neck, her hair was slightly damp and her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold. She'd clearly just come in from the snow – she'd probably only just arrived – and headed straight for the library.

Draco couldn't help but smile.

"How was Christmas?" she asked, her cheeks still very pink.

_I can't see you any more._

The words were on the tip of his tongue, burning like acid drops.

He shrugged. "All right. How was yours?"

She looked away, just for a second, and Draco could have kicked himself. Of course her Christmas had been rubbish, she'd broken up with that idiot Weasley…Draco thought this could have only been a good thing, but _she _would be really sad about it and now she'd probably never want to speak to him again…

"Oh, you know," she said, her voice casual, "quiet, mostly."

They stared at each other. Hermione's cheeks were still very pink.

_I can't see you any more_.

He should tell her now, get it over with before she got too upset. Not that she'd get upset if he told her, anyway, she'd probably be grateful for all the free time…

"So, um, about these lessons…"

She nodded. "Yes, I'd been thinking about that."

He flinched. It was like she'd slapped him. She'd been thinking about stopping these lessons too…but why? Had he said something, done something to offend her?

"What?" he snapped.

She glared at him. "You're very edgy tonight, aren't you?"

"Just say what you have to say, Granger!"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Well," she said, a definite coldness to her voice, "I was _going_ to suggest that we changed the place of these lessons to somewhere a bit more private. You're going to need to practice spellwork if you want to pass your NEWTs."

At once, an incredible lightness spread through Draco's chest. He grinned at her.

"Oh."

"But if you don't want to…"

"No!" Draco said, half-laughing, half-shouting, "I mean, yes! That's a great idea!"

Hermione stared at him.

"So, where do you want to do it? I mean, where do you want to have the lessons?" he asked, blushing fiercely. Oh Merlin, he thought, a lovesick twelve-year-old could have done better than that…

"Well…if you don't mind going back in there, I thought we might try the Room of Requirement. I'll understand if you don't want to go back there, but I just thought…"

"No, no! Yes, that's perfect! I'll see you there. Tomorrow, at eight?"

She smiled. "Of course."

He watched her leave, and leant back against the stone wall.

The second he had seen her smile, all his resolutions, all his decisions, all the hours agonising over what he was going to do when he saw her again – now, they were all meaningless. They had evaporated the second he had looked into her bright, brown eyes and he was left, babbling, in her wake.

He leaned his forehead against the nearest suit of armour. The cool metal pressed against his head like a mother's hand, and he let out a groan. Stupid Draco, he thought, stupid, stupid Draco…

The suit of armour reached around and patted him on the back.


	21. Chapter 21

Next chapter! Also, ten reviews on Chapter 20? You guys are spoiling me :P special thanks go to kvance, resina, LovelyAshes, briallyson94, Ariel, 4littlemckay, InsaniumArtisan, bluebook1496, Maria Sven and harrypottergeekychick16 for the reviews, I really appreciate you taking the time to share your opinions :) as always, please don't be shy to review, I love teh feedbacks. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

"No, you're saying it wrong. Put the stress on the 'Vi', right at the beginning. And aim for the glass this time or it'll get in my hair."

"Vinumvenite!"

A long stream of blood-red wine shot out of the end of Draco's wand. Hermione barely had time to register the smirk playing around his mouth when it hit her in the face.

"Hey!"

He grinned at her and she stuck her tongue out. She licked the wine off her lips; it tasted very strongly of vinegar.

Hermione and Draco were in the Room of Requirement. She had been astonished to find that it still worked after Crabbe's Fiendfyre Spell, but after three times passing the blank patch of wall on the seventh floor corridor, a door had appeared, just as it always had. The Room had stretched itself into a large, spacious classroom with books lining the walls, and an expansive cupboard at the very back that contained anything from crystal glasses to boxes of live mice. Large cushions lay around the room for practising Stunning Spells, and in the centre of the room was a large, wooden desk with a chair on either side. Hermione and Draco had sat down facing each other, and now she was attempting to teach him how to conjure wine into a crystal goblet that was about the size of a small bucket.

Hermione wiped the last drops of vinegary wine off her cheeks and tried to glare at Draco. It didn't work – he was grinning at her and she could feel her resolve cracking.

"That tasted awful," she said, flicking wine at him.

"No, it didn't," said Draco, still smirking, "we Malfoys are famous wine connoisseurs. You probably just have awful taste, Granger."

She snorted with laughter. "That doesn't mean you're any good at making the stuff, does it? That tasted like vinegar!"

Draco raised his eyebrows and pointed his wand into the enormous crystal glass that sat between them.

"Vinumvenite!"

At once, the glass filled with deep red wine. Draco picked it up and took a large mouthful.

She could see him gagging.

He forced himself to swallow it – she could see him wincing in disgust – and then muttered "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on! It's awful and you know it. I can see you retching!"

"Well, you try it, if you're so good at it!"

She smirked right back at him and vanished the last of the wine, then refilled it with her own wand. She raised the glass in a little toast – Draco fought back a grin – and drank.

It was incredibly strong.

It didn't taste bad at all. At first all she could taste was something sweet, almost flowery, but then the alcohol kicked in. It burned down her throat and made her eyes water, and she almost dropped the crystal goblet on the floor.

"Told you," smirked Draco.

Hermione tried to glare at him. Her constant coughing and watering eyes must have diminished the effect of her icy stare, because Draco just grinned at her.

"It's very strong," she spluttered.

Draco raised his eyebrows, and before she could stop him he reached out and took the glass from her. He took another hearty gulp, swallowed, and let out a breathless wheeze, his eyes streaming.

"Damn, Granger! What's in that?"

She shrugged. "Magic, I suppose."

She took another sip, and spent several minutes blinking rapidly while she tried to pin down the taste.

"And maybe strawberries."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You'll need an expert for this. Give it here."

He took another mouthful and coughed loudly.

"Alcohol," he said, decisively, "lots and lots of alcohol."

Hermione snorted with laughter. Her head was beginning to feel a little fuzzy.

"I think we'd better call it a night," she said, the wine still burning down her throat, "I don't think I'll be much good like this."

Draco nodded. "Fair enough. Do you want to stay for a bit and finish off the wine? It isn't that bad. Seems like a waste just to leave it."

She smiled, and nodded.

* * *

An hour later, they were down to the last third of the glass and the pair of them were giggling uncontrollably. Draco had just told her a joke they'd both heard twice before, but the strong drink had transformed it into fine comedy.

Draco looked into the goblet and groaned loudly.

"There's so much of it left! Drink it, Hermione, and put me out of my misery!"

He passed her the cup and she took another sip, still giggling. It burned her tongue.

"You know, you are actually surprisingly nice," she said, handing over the cup. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, and she blushed.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Surprisingly nice! I'll have you know that I am a _joy_ to be around, Granger. An absolute _delight_."

"See, that's what I don't get," she said, resisting the urge to let her head slump onto the table. "If we take it as a given that you are – what was it?"

"A joy to be around, an absolute delight, lovelier than a Veela's –"

"– well, lovely," she said, grinning, "then why are you getting all those letters?"

Draco shrugged and took another drink. "No clue. Didn't get any over Christmas, though, so whoever's sending them has got a sense of festive cheer."

"Or they're someone in the castle. And if they didn't send them to you at home, they're probably someone who can't perform a curse complex enough to survive the post."

Draco shrugged. Hermione leaned forward.

"Look, you're probably looking for someone who's got hold of some Polyjuice Potion and is getting into the Slytherin Common Room. And they're probably someone who isn't great at advanced spellwork. Someone like that would definitely leave a trace on the envelope, all you'd have to do is take it to McGonagall and then –"

"I don't want to take it to McGonagall!" he snapped.

"You don't like getting these letters, do you?"

He ran a hand through his fine, blond hair and stared down at the desk. "I should never have told you about this in the first place; I knew you wouldn't understand!"

Her fists clenched. Anger flared up inside her. "What is there to understand? Someone's threatening you!"

"And with good reason!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, "you don't know the things I've done, Hermione, you don't know what's happened…"

"Don't I?"

He rounded on her. "No, you don't! You know what I was doing this time last year! I was standing watch outside the Khongs' house! I stood there all night long while the rest of them went inside and…and…"

She froze. Draco was standing in the middle of the room, his fists tightly clenched, staring down at the carpet.

She knew what had happened to the Khongs. They had been murdered. Both Persephone Khong's parents, her elderly aunt and her five-year-old brother had been torn to shreds by Fenrir Greyback. It wasn't even a full moon at the time, and both Draco and his father had been identified at the scene.

"My father sent me outside when we got there," Draco whispered, "he made me stand guard. He wouldn't let me go inside, not until it was over. I…I heard them screaming, Hermione."

"Draco…"

She got up, went over to him, and put her arms around him. He stood perfectly still, every muscle in his body filled with tension, as though she hadn't even touched him at all.

"I let that happen, Hermione. I could have stopped them, but I didn't."

She did not move. For a moment they just stood there in silence, and then, dragging up the words from somewhere deep inside her, Hermione began to speak.

"You didn't kill them, Draco. I know it must feel like it, but you didn't do it. I think…I think there are moments in everybody's life when they're…well, when they're too weak to stand up for what's right, and those moments aren't something to be proud of. All you can do is try and be a better person, so that when the next moment comes around, you'll know what to do. It won't be easy, but you'll get there."

A little of the tension eased out of his stiff arms, and she looked up at him. He was gazing down at her, his mouth slightly open and his grey eyes wide.

"I know you'll get there."

He stared down at her. They were so close that Hermione was certain that he could feel her heart twitching against her skin. Slowly, he put his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest in an embrace so gentle that for a moment, she could hardly believe he was the same man who'd been to the Khongs' house one year before.

She could feel his hands on her back. They were warm and strong.

He whispered in her ear. His breath tickled the back of her neck and sent shivers running down her spine.

"Thank you, Hermione."


	22. Chapter 22

SURPRISE! Here's another chapter for you, but don't thank me just yet, you might hate me by the end of it. :P Special thanks to harrypottergeekychick16, TheWritten, ariadne0318, 4littlemckay and resina for the reviews - as always, they are very much appreciated :) keep forgetting to mention this, but I am not JK Rowling, I am just borrowing her world for a little bit. Enjoy!

* * *

Somewhere deep in the castle, a clock chimed midnight.

Draco felt Hermione flinch in his arms and all too soon, she was twisting away from him to look at her watch.

"Oh no! We've left it far too late! If Filch sees us…"

Draco swore, running his hands through his hair. Hermione was frantically stuffing their books back into her bag, and with one swift wave of her wand she vanished the last remnants of their wine. She looked up at him, her brown eyes frantic.

"I won't have time to get back to the Slytherin dorms," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder, "not from the top floor."

"And Gryffindor Tower's on the other side of the castle," muttered Hermione, biting her lip. Draco felt himself growing incredibly hot as he watched her, and tugged self-consciously at the collar of his shirt.

"Do you think we could make it to your office?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, it's not far. It just depends on who's in the corridors."

Hermione stared at the door, absent-mindedly, and Draco coughed.

"We could…we could stay here, if you wanted."

She went scarlet.

Draco knew exactly why she was blushing. Everyone who knew about the Room of Requirement always had a story about a friend of a friend who'd snuck in there with a boy, or a girl, or sometimes both. The stories varied about what actually happened in the room – Crabbe had said the room provided handcuffs to one of the seventh years, and Goyle had sworn that one of the fifth year Ravenclaws had been spat out into the corridor the second she had started kissing her boyfriend. He was willing to bet that Gryffindor Tower had its fair share of stories, too, judging by the beetroot red shade of Hermione's face.

"Or we could not stay here," he amended hastily, and for a second he could have sworn he saw Hermione's shoulders sagging with relief. Of course she wouldn't want to do anything like that, she'd just broken up with Weasley…

"Why don't we try and get back to my office?" she whispered, her cheeks still burning.

He nodded, and the two of them stepped out into the deserted corridor.

* * *

The full moon shone through the windows, bathing the corridor in silver light. Hermione's hair was almost black in the moonlight, and as he crept along behind her Draco could see the strands gleaming silver as they passed each window.

They moved slowly, silently, listening for any sound in the sleeping castle. The creaking of a pipe would make Hermione flinch, and the distant wailing of the castle ghosts would send a shiver down Draco's spine.

Finally, Hermione's office door came into view. The two of them sprinted towards it, forgetting the quiet, and hurtled through it, slamming the door behind them. Hermione locked the door with a wave of her wand just as Filch's voice rang through the corridors after them, and they both staggered into her office, pressing their hands over their mouths to stifle their giggling. Both of them collapsed on the bed, still laughing.

Draco glanced up. The red lilies he had given her were still sitting on the mantelpiece, as fresh and beautiful as ever. He smiled at them, heat creeping up from underneath his collar.

"You haven't thrown those things out yet?"

She shook her head. "I like them too much to throw them out."

He smiled. "I thought you would. Chose them specially, you know."

Hermione rolled over and looked at him, smiling. He wasn't sure if it was just the results of the haze of alcohol that had descended over his brain, but suddenly her hair was a tumbling mess of curls splayed out on the bed, her eyes were gleaming, her lips were redder than he'd ever seen them and heat was creeping across every inch of his skin.

She smiled. "And here was me thinking you'd just nicked them from the greenhouses."

He leaned forward and tried his best to look offended. "I shall have you know that I am a gentleman, Hermione Granger. Gentlemen do not 'nick' things."

She raised her eyebrows.

"We merely borrow them, on our impeccable credit."

"You did nick them!" she said, giving him a playful shove, "I knew it! You nicked them from the greenhouses, you bad man!"

"I _borrowed_ them from the greenhouses, you mean…"

She laughed. "Get off my bed, you thief."

He stuck his tongue out at her and folded his arms. "No. I am sleepy."

"You are not!"

He closed his eyes. "I am. I've got my eyes closed and everything."

She gave him another push and he sat up. Her eyes were gleaming, her hair was a mess and there was a wild grin on her face. She smirked up at him.

"Awake now, I see."

"No thanks to you," he said, and before she could so much as open her mouth to reply he was tickling her. She was laughing, shrieking, tugging herself away from him but he wouldn't let her go. His hands were on the curves of her waist and she was laughing so hard her face was red and thrashing around like a fish out of water. He stopped, just for a split second, and she reached up and grabbed his hands, forcing them away from her, and they both collapsed back on the bed, panting and giggling.

He looked at her.

She was still holding his wrists against his chest, her thin fingers cool on his skin. She was gasping for breath, her chest heaving, and he felt his face grow hot again. Long, brown curls fell across her face, sprawling out over the bedsheets. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were dancing, full of a bright, burning energy that he'd never seen there before.

"No tickling," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

His hands slid down to her waist. She did not try and stop him.

He nodded. "Okay."

She was close, now. Close enough for him to see every single one of her eyelashes and every single freckle on her cheeks. He could feel her warm body against his and her lips were parted, waiting, and so he leaned forward and…

A blinding pain stabbed in his left forearm. He jerked away from her, swearing, clutching his arm in pain, and for the briefest moment he saw a dark, deserted forest in his mind's eye. He doubled over, clutching his arm as pain burned right the way up to his shoulder.

"Draco? Draco!"

He staggered away from the bed, gasping, as the Dark Mark burned on his arm.

Somewhere, a Death Eater was trying to contact him.


	23. Chapter 23

New chapter! Hope you guys like it :) Special thanks go to kvance, InsaniumArtisan, JessicaRavenGlade, bluebook1496, resina and 4littlemckay for your reviews, they are always appreciated :) I only own the OCs, the rest belongs to JK Rowling. Enjoy!

* * *

Draco had left immediately. He had slammed Hermione's office door behind him and stormed off down the corridors without saying a word to her. She'd seen him the next morning, clearly nursing a hangover as bad as hers and being given the details of his detention by a sly, grinning Mr Filch, but he had not said a word to her.

She'd been surprised he'd even shown up for his next lesson, but he had been waiting outside the Room of Requirement for her.

He hadn't said a word all night.

He clearly hadn't slept, and in the quiet moments between spells she could see him scratching at his left arm. She knew the Dark Mark was burning there. She'd tried to talk about it, but every time she brought the subject up he just looked at her with frightened eyes and, eventually, he left.

It had been the same every night since.

Now, the snow was finally melting and the castle was easing into February. Wet, watery sunlight oozed through every window and, as Valentines' Day drew ever closer, Hermione found herself dogged by an increasingly persistent Charlie Jackson.

He was everywhere. Outside her office, outside her classrooms, hovering hopefully behind her seat in the Great Hall – Professor Sprout had told her that he'd even tried to volunteer to help out in the greenhouses. Luckily, the Herbology professor had refused, as Charlie's Herbology grades were abysmal, but nevertheless the only peace Hermione could find was tucked away in her office. She was spending far more time there than she ought to – she only saw Ginny at meals and in classes now – but it was better than being on the receiving end of another one of Charlie's heavy-handed attempts at flirting.

She was determined to find out who was sending Draco those letters. He was still barely speaking to her, but that had not put her off; she was Head Girl, after all, and had a duty of care to all her students. Especially Draco Malfoy.

She blushed, and looked over her notes again.

_Letters not delivered by owl. Appear in room/bags. Delivered by hand/magic? If by hand, inexperienced magic user or deliberately untraceable? If magic, THERE'S A LEAD. Needs access to Slytherin dorms to deliver. Polyjuice Potion?_

She sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair. The full moon beamed through her windows, and a distant howling echoed through the glass.

She would visit Professor Slughorn first thing tomorrow, and ask him if any ingredients had gone missing from the store cupboard. Of course, what she really needed to do was to get her hands on one of the cursed letters and test it. If she could get hold of an envelope she could test for a magical signature, see the types of curses used, and then, of course, it would only be a matter of time before…

There was a knock on her door. Ginny's face momentarily flashed on the wooden surface, and Hermione stuffed her notes into her desk drawer.

"Come in!"

Ginny bustled in through the door and said, in a voice that brooked no argument, "Hermione, you are coming into Hogsmeade with me tomorrow."

"What? But I –"

"No buts," said Ginny, her hands on her hips, "you've barely come out of your office since the New Year. You are coming into Hogsmeade with me tomorrow, and tonight you are sleeping in the girls' dorms like a normal person. Come on. Get your things."

Hermione looked up. Ginny's hands were still firmly planted on her hips, but Hermione could see the worry in her eyes. She sighed and straightened up, grabbing some clothes. Ginny steered her out into the corridor, Hermione locked the door with a flick of her wand and the pair of them headed for Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

The next day, Hermione awoke in Gryffindor Tower, slumped on her old bed. She was so deeply asleep that it took several repeated hits from Ginny's pillow to wake her up, but once she was finally wake – at eleven o'clock, no less, she couldn't remember having slept this late before – they both dressed, wolfed down some breakfast in the Great Hall and headed into the village.

The sky was a pearly blue, shot with wispy grey clouds, and as she and Ginny chatted on their way up to the village Hermione began to feel a little of the tension ease out of her shoulders. The two of them meandered up the high street, wondering if visiting Zonko's counted as being disloyal to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, when Charlie Jackson came barrelling out of the Three Broomsticks, a skinny blond girl clinging to his arm.

The second he saw Hermione, he froze. He shook his hand out of the blonde's grasp and she glared at both Hermione and Ginny as Charlie elbowed his way over to them.

"Hermione," he said, his face very red, "I didn't expect to see you here."

Hermione smiled at the blond girl behind him. "I can see that. Who's your friend?"

"Oh, she was just leaving," said Charlie, grinning down at Hermione.

The blonde folded her arms. "No, I wasn't."

Charlie glared at her, and the blond girl's bottom lip started to quiver. Hermione glanced over at Ginny, who was glaring daggers at the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.

She made her decision.

"Well, we _were_ just leaving. I have urgent business in the –"

"Oh come on, Hermione!" Charlie yelled, and several passers-by stopped and stared, "stop making excuses! You know I like you, and I want you to go out with me!"

The blonde burst into tears.

"No thank you, Charlie."

He glared at her, his fists clenched. "Why?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I don't owe you an explanation."

"Yes you do!"

A familiar voice cut across them. Hermione felt shivers run down her spine and Ginny's hand clutching at her arm.

"The lady said no, Jackson. You should listen to her, she's a smart girl."

Charlie Jackson turned scarlet and left. Hermione turned around, her heart pounding, and stared into the face of Ron Weasley. An awkward smile was plastered across his face, and his blue eyes were trained on Charlie's retreating back.

"Honestly, Hermione. I don't know why you turned him down."

She let out a snort of laughter.

"Can we go somewhere? I've…I've got some stuff I should probably tell you."

For a split second, she hesitated. She glanced at Ginny, but her expression was unreadable.

Hermione nodded.

* * *

They stood at the fence surrounding the Shrieking Shack. Someone had put up a plaque recording it as the place where Severus Snape had died, and dozens of bouquets were laid at its feet. They stood and stared at it, watching the sunlight gleam off the metal.

"I've met someone."

The words left Ron's mouth in a tangled rush, so fast it seemed as though they were tripping over each other in an effort to escape. Hermione glanced up at him; he had turned beetroot red.

She nodded. It didn't surprise her; it would only ever be a matter of time.

"Who is she?"

"Her name's Tamika. She's a receptionist at the Ministry. She was a couple of years above us, in Hufflepuff."

They stared at the shack. It creaked in the wind, and one of the tiles fell off the roof.

"I think I'm going to marry her."

Hermione stared at him. "What? Now?"

"No! No, not now! No, I could never afford it!"

He scuffed at the ground with the tip of his shoe, drawing circles in the dirt.

"We haven't even been dating that long, just a few weeks. But it's just…it's just obvious. It's something that I just know is going to happen, one day."

Hermione let out a long, low sigh.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

He nodded. "I wanted you to find out from me, before any of this crap gets put into the papers. I know it's pretty early and it hasn't been that long since we split, but…"

"It's OK," she said, smiling, "I get it. Sometimes you just know these things. It's what my parents have always said."

He smiled. "Mine too."

They turned away from the shack and began to head back towards the village. Ginny was waiting for them outside the post office, her eyes darting between them.

"We're still friends, right?"

She grinned at him. "You won't get rid of me that easily."


	24. Chapter 24

New chapter! Hope you guys like it. Special thanks to resina, harrypottergeekychick16, InsaniumArtisan, gretchenbell, LovelyAshes, kvance, bluebook1496 and 4littlemckay for your reviews - I really appreciate you taking the time to leave me some feedback :) I only own my OCs, everything else is JK Rowling's (unless I made another reference and then forgot about it. This always happens, I slip them in, have a giggle and forget to put them in the disclaimer. Woops.) Anyway - enjoy!

* * *

Valentines' Day came and went, and Draco made a point of not seeing Hermione. He spent the whole day shut in his room, where he knew she could not find him. He was tempted – very tempted – to send her something in the post, but he knew that without his name attached she would never even open his gift. The idea of being famous – let alone being famous, single and incredibly attractive – seemed to make Hermione incredibly uncomfortable; he knew for a fact she never opened half her fan mail.

So he let Valentines' Day slip through his fingers, and neither he nor Hermione mentioned it to each other.

He would have said something, if the Dark Mark was not still burning on his arm.

Flashes of pain had scrawled up his arm three more times, and now the snake and the skull gleamed blacker than ever on his pale skin. It was constantly burning now, always itching. He'd begged some bandages from Madam Pomfrey and every day, before he drew back the curtains on his four poster bed, he wound them around his arm, from wrist to elbow. It didn't stop the pain, but it still helped. It was nice to look down at his arms and not see it branded there.

She had noticed, of course. She always noticed, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He pulled his sleeves down as far as they would go, but she still saw the bandages.

She thought he'd burnt himself at first, but she worked it out soon enough.

An owl rapped on the dorm window and he let it in. It was a sleek, handsome screech owl – his father's favourite – with a letter tied to its leg. It hopped inside dorms and sat on his bedside table, waiting. It was perfectly still, its large, proud eyes trained on the letter as Draco unfurled it.

Instantly, he knew that something was wrong.

It was from his father. Usually, Lucius Malfoy prided himself on his elegant hand – according to him, it was 'one of the marks of a truly well-bred wizard' – but in this letter, his handwriting was so bad it was barely legible. It looked as if a spider had run across the parchment, and Draco felt his stomach twist in fear at the sight of it.

_Dear Draco_, he read, his hands shaking,_ take care, my boy, for times are growing ever more difficult. I have just received word that one of our old acquaintances will try to contact you – I cannot say more for fear this letter is intercepted. You must not listen to him. Only the castle is safe for you now – you must stay there at all times or I fear you will be in terrible danger. I will do all in my power to track him down but until then, you must stay inside the castle._

_Your mother and I are thinking of you, as always._

_Father_

Draco set the letter aside and stared at his burning arm.

* * *

The news that Hermione Granger had publicly turned down Charlie Jackson on Valentines' Day, and in the middle of the Hogsmeade high street, had spread around the school like wildfire. Draco listened to the story with a smirk plastered across his face, which faded very quickly when he heard that Ron Weasley had shown up and 'rescued' her.

He did not, however, expect the story to find its way into the Daily Prophet. But sure enough, on a particularly slow news day it was plastered across the front page, complete with a photo of Ron and Hermione coming back from the Shrieking Shack.

The only part of the story that made him feel slightly better was that picture; he could see very clearly that they weren't holding hands. Charlie himself had given an interview, and there was a picture of his big, stupid face on page ten. He was pulling an innocent-yet-heartbroken face which, in Draco's opinion, made him look like he was about to throw up.

The real Charlie Jackson was sitting at the Gryffindor table, smirking at the paper. Hermione was a few seats down from him, her eyes trained on her cereal. Her cheeks were flaming red and she wasn't looking at anyone.

He could hear Charlie braying about the interview from halfway across the hall, laughing at the top of his obnoxious voice.

"…and maybe even a book deal. Spill all the secrets and make a packet from it. They've invited me to this launch party, Winona Merryweather is going to be there. Yeah, her with the legs…"

Draco clenched his fists under the table. He forced himself to finish his breakfast and headed for the door. Over on the Gryffindor table, Charlie Jackson stood up.

He had just stepped out into the deserted Entrance Hall when he heard Charlie's voice.

"Oi! Malfoy!"

He ignored him, and sauntered off towards the Slytherin Common Room.

"Oi! I'm talking to you, Malfoy!"

He turned around. A small group of Gryffindors were standing behind Charlie, who had his fists clenched and his feet set wide apart. His barrel chest was puffed out, his jaw jutted forward and he looked more like a bull than ever.

Draco smirked at him, his hands in his pockets.

"Save your breath, Jackson. _I_ won't go out with you, either."

Charlie's face flushed as one of the girls behind him stifled a laugh. "You're asking for it now, Malfoy. I'll grind you into paste."

"I'm sure you will, Jackson," Draco drawled, his hand curling around his wand, "but there's something I'd like to ask you first."

Charlie blinked at him, stupidly. Draco grinned.

"How on Earth did you manage to get a book deal when you're too stupid to spell your own name?"

Charlie started forwards. Two of the Gryffindors grabbed his arms, holding him back, and Draco watched, amused, as his face slowly started to turn purple with rage.

"As if you could do any better!" Charlie spat, "who'd want to hear anything that you'd have to say? You're a slimy, backstabbing little prat, Malfoy, so twisted that no-one in the wizarding world would ever want to go near you, let alone Hermione Granger!"

Draco said nothing.

"She doesn't know a good thing when she sees it!" Charlie spat, "just a stuck-up, prissy little know-it-all who thinks she's better than the rest of us. But if you're slime then she's no better, she's just a lucky little Mu–"

Two things happened in very quick succession.

The first was Hermione Granger stepping into the Entrance Hall, her eyes wide. She looked like she'd been slapped, and out of the corner of his eye Draco saw Ginny close behind her, puffing up like an angry cat.

The second was Draco curling up his fingers, drawing back his fist, and punching Charlie Jackson right in the face.


	25. Chapter 25

New chapter! Special thanks to AtlantaOfArcadia, resina, harrypottergeekychick16, ashyat, Brigitte Nons, InsaniumArtisan, emma, snapplexo, LovelyAshes, kvance and bluebook1496 - that was a LOT of reviews for one chapter (but then again, the ending was so satisfying :P) please don't be shy to share your opinions, feedback is always welcome :) Enjoy!

* * *

Both Draco and Charlie had been given a month's worth of detention. Hermione felt this was entirely justified. After Draco had punched him, Charlie had all but jumped on the Slytherin, and a couple of his friends had joined the brawl as well. In the end, she'd had to run into the Great Hall, interrupt Hagrid's breakfast and watch as he strode into the Entrance Hall and lifted the pair of them right off their feet. Charlie had been assigned as Mr Filch's cleaning assistant, and Draco had been put to work in the greenhouses.

Hermione had made sure of that.

Now, two weeks into his detention, the pair of them were kneeling in the dirt in Greenhouse Three, trying to prune a row of Shrinking Violets. Professor Slughorn needed the small purple flowers for his third-year Potions class, but it was almost impossible to actually pick them. They kept running away from them, or shrinking down to an incredibly small size which made it very difficult to see the flowers at all, let alone pick one.

She sat back on her haunches and sighed. Draco did the same and wiped his forehead, leaving a long streak of dirt across his face.

"Are you sure we can't use magic for this?" he sighed.

She shook her head. "Professor Slughorn says it would contaminate the ingredients."

Draco glared at the flowerbed. "How are we supposed to catch the bloody things? We'll be here all night!"

She shrugged. Draco groaned, and for a while the two of them said nothing and simply watched the Shrinking Violets settle themselves back into their neat rows.

"Do you think Charlie Jackson has _really_ got a book deal?" she asked.

Draco let out a snort of laughter. "I'd be surprised if he can even read."

She tried to keep a stern look on her face and failed miserably. Draco grinned at her.

"You could probably get one, though. I bet people would be willing to pay for Hermione Granger's deepest, darkest secrets. All your sordid love affairs, all your broken hearts…"

She threw a handful of dirt at him and he ducked. "Stop that! I get enough of that from Rita Skeeter!"

He shrugged. "I'd read it."

She smiled. "Would you ever do something like that?"

Draco stared at the flowerbed and plucked a Shrinking Violet while it wasn't paying attention. "I'm not sure if people would want to read about the things I've done."

His grey eyes were resolutely fixed on the flowerbed, as though he was afraid to look at her. She plucked another Shrinking Violet, and the flowers started to run away again.

"But you're barely eighteen, Draco. You've made some mistakes, but that doesn't mean you have to keep making them. You could go on to do something really great."

He smiled, a little sadly. "I'm not so sure about that."

* * *

It was well after midnight by the time they finished picking the Shrinking Violets. They worked out that the best way to do it was to pick one or two at a time, then wait until the flowers had been lulled into a false sense of security, and start picking them again. Unfortunately, this meant that finishing the whole bed took hours, and by the time they left the greenhouses the castle doors had been locked.

Hermione sighed, stuffing the jar full of flowers into her bag and tutting at the locked doors. "Bloody Filch. He knew we were out here! He's only doing this so he can put us in detention when we ask to be let back in."

Draco smiled. "Don't worry, I've got a plan."

He raised his wand.

"Accio Nimbus 2001!"

There was a few seconds of complete silence. Then, off in the distance, a swift, rushing sound, and suddenly Draco's broomstick skidded to a halt in front of them, hovering a few feet above the ground.

"Come on," he said, mounting the broomstick and holding out his hand to her, "get on."

Hermione looked at the broomstick and tried to stop herself from gulping.

"Can it support two people?"

"Of course!" said Draco, smirking at her, "don't tell me the famous Gryffindor courage is going to let you down?"

Gingerly, she climbed onto the broomstick. She put her hands around Draco's waist, as carefully as she dared, and thanked every god she knew of that he could not see her burning cheeks.

"Ready?"

"Y-Yes!"

Draco pushed off. The broomstick sprang into the air. Hermione wobbled on the broom, screamed and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his back. The wind rushed through her hair, teasing strands of it out of her ponytail and biting at her exposed skin. She wrapped her arms around Draco's chest, pulling herself closer to him, and suddenly all she could think about was how warm and strong and solid he was, safe and secure in the wind…

Suddenly, they came to a stop.

Hermione stopped burying her head in Draco's collar and looked up. They were right outside her office window. With one smooth flick of Draco's wand, it sprang open, and he flew a little closer to the windowsill.

"Here you are," he said, sounding a little out of breath, "it should be easy now, you can just climb onto the ledge and get in from there."

"No I can't!" she squeaked, "you have to take me inside!"

"Don't be ridiculous, I can't fly through that little window!"

"Yes, you can!" she snapped, "I'm not climbing on the windowsill, that's crazy!"

"I climbed in through the window once, don't you remember?"

"Well, you're crazy too!"

He said nothing, but in the silence she could practically hear him grinning. Then, slowly and carefully, he guided the broom through the little window and into Hermione's office.

She jumped down and almost collapsed onto the floor. All the feeling had gone from her legs during the flight, and she staggered over to the armchair and slumped in it. Within seconds, Crookshanks had jumped up on her lap and was treading on her legs, his claws digging into her skin through her robes. Draco hovered in the centre of the room, smirking.

"You're crazy," she said again, "climbing on windowsills…who does that?"

"Crazy people, apparently," he said, smirking, "and, from the looks of things, people who own very ugly cats."

"He's not ugly!"

Draco snorted. "Yes, he is. I've never seen a cat with a face that lumpy."

Hermione tickled Crookshanks behind his (admittedly quite lumpy) ears. "Well, I don't care. I love him, and his lumpy face, and I wouldn't have him any other way."

Draco smiled. "Then, he's a very lucky man."

He turned, flew out the window and was gone.


	26. Chapter 26

Next chapter! Special thanks to ariadne0318, LovelyAshes, harrypottergeekychick16, EmoPrincess21, InsaniumArtisan, FreeSpiritSeeker and snapplexo for the reviews, I really appreciate you taking the time to leave feedback :) I have made up a few OCs but the rest of this all belongs to JK Rowling. Hope you like this chapter!

* * *

Before Draco knew it, the Easter holidays were upon him and his NEWTs loomed ever closer. He spent every waking moment studying – usually with Hermione in the Room of Requirement – and he went to bed each night with Charms principles, Potions ingredients and Transfiguration incantations swimming around his brain. It seemed that the anonymous letter writer was beginning to panic, too; since the holidays had started Draco had only received one letter, which had simply spat ink at him and smoked feebly when he tried to pick it up. Draco supposed that whoever sent it was far too busy studying to put more effort into their curses.

The Dark Mark was still burning on his arm.

He was bandaging it every day now, because even the slightest little movement – even something as small as the sleeve of his robes brushing against it – could set off a stabbing pain that flared all the way up to his shoulder. He'd tried adding Essence of Murklap to the bandages, but it had not worked – clearly, the Mark was too well-cast to be affected by it.

The Death Eater was still trying to call him.

He would never know when it was going to happen, but every few weeks a blinding pain would sear along his arms and the edges of a dark forest would appear in his mind's eye. It was an unfamiliar, brutal place, where the trees thinned out onto an enormous, rocky slope, but that was all he ever saw of the place.

He thought at first it was Yaxley trying to call him – he had always been a brutal, vengeful man. But a few weeks ago Yaxley had been arrested and sentenced to life in Azkaban. He'd gone after Remus Lupin's son, along with Fenrir Greyback and Dolohov, but the old Order members – many of whom were now Aurors – had stopped him. Dolohov had been killed – and gruesomely so, if the rumours were true – but Greyback had escaped and was still at large, and there ended Draco's list of suspects. As a werewolf, Greyback had never been given the Dark Mark – Voldemort had not considered him worthy of it – and so, he would have no way of contacting Draco. He was the only supporter of Voldemort still at large, even though he had never technically been a Death Eater, and Draco was fairly certain that the forest he was seeing was not part of Azkaban.

Draco placed a hand on his left forearm. Even through the bandages, he could still feel the Dark Mark burning.

Who on Earth could be contacting him?

* * *

Draco and Hermione were in Greenhouse Seven, keeping a wary distance from a Venomous Tentacula. Draco's month of detention had long since finished, but he had carried on helping in the greenhouses anyway. It was, he reminded himself, an excellent way of studying Herbology.

He watched as Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She turned and smiled at him, pulling on her dragon-hide gloves. Her brown eyes were shining.

Yes, he thought, it was an excellent way of studying Herbology.

"Look here," Hermione was saying, pointing at the mass of green, spiky leaves, "you'll need to be able to tell if the leaves are healthy enough to be used in potion-making. If they're good, they'll be nice and fat, with sharp ridges along the sides, and about the size of a –"

He had a split second's warning.

There was a strange, rushing sound. The plants at the west end of the greenhouse quivered away from the wall and Draco felt his stomach twist in fear. Something was coming...

Then, the greenhouse exploded.

The glass in all the frames shattered, bursting outwards as though they had been hit by a bomb. The greenhouse was split into huge glass shards, flying in all direction, and Hermione looked up, and raised her wand, just as a piece of glass sharper than a blade plummeted towards the back of her neck…

Draco lunged for her. He threw his arms around her and forced her to the ground, rolling off into one of the flowerbeds. The piece of glass flew into the ground and stuck there, gleaming wickedly, on the exact spot where Hermione had been standing seconds before.

"Are you all –"

Her eyes widened. She pointed her wand somewhere behind his back and yelled "Protego!"

At once, a protective shield sprang into being above their heads, and Draco felt a strange ripple of energy as something hit it.

He turned around.

A glass shard the size and shape of a guillotine blade was hovering a few inches above his back. It was pointing right at him, and he knew with absolute certainty that if Hermione hadn't acted when she did, he would have been sliced in half.

He turned to her.

He was almost lying on top of her, her face just inches from his. She was incredibly pale, her eyes wide with fear, and he could feel her trembling underneath him.

"You're shaking," he whispered.

She swallowed nervously. "Well, the greenhouse just exploded."

He let out a hollow laugh. "Are you all right? You didn't get hit?"

She shook her head. "Are you?"

"I think so. What happened?"

"I don't know."

Glass rained down all around them, bouncing off Hermione's Shield Charm. She was staring up at him, her eyes still wide and frightened, but she was looking at him as though she had never seen him before. The look in her eyes – frightened, yes, but there was something else there, something he could not place – scared him in a way he couldn't begin to understand.

"Hermione? Hermione!"

Someone was calling, and Draco could hear someone's frantic footsteps running towards them. The last pieces of glass clattered to the floor, Hermione released her Shield Charm, and Draco felt someone tugging on his arm and hauling him upright. It was a skinny little Gryffindor prefect with curly hair, and as he helped Hermione up he looked at Draco as if he was a murderer.

"Are you OK, Hermione? He didn't hurt you?"

Hermione stared at him.

"What did you say, Lysander?"

The prefect – Lysander – pointed at Draco and spoke in a slow, calm voice. "Did he hurt you, Hermione?"

Hermione swelled like a bullfrog.

"Are you asking me if the man who saved my life tried to kill me?" she said, in a dangerously quiet voice.

"Well…I…"

"I don't _believe_ it!" she yelled, "do you know what has just happened? A greenhouse has just exploded _on my head_! I was almost sliced in half and _he_," she yelled, jabbing her finger in Draco's direction, "just pushed me out of the way! He was almost _killed_! So no, Lysander, he did _not_ try to hurt me, and if you speak to me in that calm voice ever again I will jinx your fingers together!"

Lysander and Draco both stared at her. She was so angry that her face was white and she was shaking all over. For a split second, she glared at them both, and then her knees gave way and she collapsed into the flowerbed, trembling violently.

Draco glanced at Lysander. "Does that usually happen?"

Lysander shook his head. His cheeks were almost scarlet, and he placed a hand on Hermione's forehead. "I think she's going into shock. We'll have to get her to the hospital wing."

Draco nodded, and scooped Hermione up in his arms. She was still shaking, and as he picked her up she jabbed a finger in his chest.

"Don't you ever do that again," she murmured, her words slurred.

He smiled at her. "Don't be ridiculous, Granger."


	27. Chapter 27

Next chapter! This is going to be the last one for a while, as tomorrow I'm setting off on a trek to climb Macchu Pichu (!) to raise money for charity. I won't have internet access and won't be back for at least two weeks, so the next chapter won't be up until September 14th at the very very earliest. Special thanks to bluebook1496, resina, Brigitte Nons, snapplexo, Marion Hood, InsaniumArtisan, kvance and my guest reviewer for leaving feedback - as ever, it is always appreciated :) enjoy!

* * *

All too soon, exam season was upon them. Prefect rotas, internship applications, the perpetually sulking Charlie Jackson and her ever-growing mountain of fan mail had all faded away – in Hermione's mind, there was only room for one thing.

The Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests.

She would be taking seven of them, in almost exactly the same subjects as Draco: Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Herbology. It was one more than most seventh year students, but she hadn't been able to bear the thought of choosing between Arithmancy and Ancient Runes when she had returned to school in September and had begged Professor McGonagall to let her do both.

Now, she was regretting it.

Her every waking moment was spent frantically revising. She still kept up her sessions with Draco in the Room of Requirement, but these days it seemed more like he was teaching her. He really was doing very well, and she confidently expected him to pass his NEWTs with flying colours.

What happened after that was another matter.

The feeling had been creeping up on her for some time, and now, on the night before her first exam it was more powerful than ever. She lay on her bed in her office and stared at the ceiling, her head still half-brimming with Charms incantations, and thought of Draco Malfoy.

After the exams were over, he would have no reason to see her any more. He'd made this very clear. He'd never _said_ anything, but Hermione knew from the countless times he pulled away – shrinking back as if she'd burned him – that he would not seek her out after the exams had finished. He wouldn't need her any more.

The thought frightened her, just a little.

He would stroll out of her life without a backwards glance and for some reason, the thought of her former enemy turning his back on her made her eyes water.

She wanted him to need her.

She wanted him to throw caution to the winds and come chasing after her, to scoop her up in his arms in front of everyone, to prove – somehow – that all the hours they'd spent together and all the time that they'd shared hadn't meant nothing. The way he looked at her, his grey eyes gleaming, a smile playing around his lips when he thought she couldn't see – no, Hermione thought, that had to mean something.

She rolled over and groaned into her pillow.

The feeling had been creeping up on her for some time now, so slowly that she hadn't even noticed. The lines between enmity and friendship had blurred into each other, like ink bleeding through water, until it was impossible to say where one had ended and the other had begun. But before she'd even had time to reflect on how strange it was to be friends with someone who only months before had gone out of his way to insult her, something else had crept up on her, creeping into her mind and taking hold with a grip of steel.

She took a deep breath, and allowed herself to think it.

She was in love with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione took another deep breath, her hands shaking, and made her decision.

And – after the exams, of course – she was going to tell him.

* * *

The NEWTs passed in a blur, and the only thing that Hermione was really certain of was that she had failed _everything_. She'd mistranslated one of her runes, forgotten to work in Golpalott's Third Law into her Potions essay and hadn't made the comparison between the treatment of Dementors and Inferi that came to her just after she'd left the Defence Against the Dark Arts written paper.

She was fully expecting Professor McGonagall to take her aside and say that there was no point in her sitting her last exam – the Charms written paper – because she had failed the others so badly. Then, Professor McGonagall would probably snap her wand in half and tell her to go and get a job at the nearest Burger King.

She had told Draco all of this, and he had laughed for five whole minutes.

They were in the Room of Requirement, studying for the Charms paper, and as he read over his notes Draco could not stop looking up at her and sniggering. Hermione didn't know what he was laughing about – it had taken a good few minutes to explain the concept of Burger King to Draco in the first place – but it was incredibly distracting. She'd only had time to memorise the Charms incantations, wand movements and underlying principles three times, instead of four, because of all Draco's laughter.

Eventually, the clock chimed ten and they both stood up to leave. Draco held out his hand for her to shake.

"Well," he said, avoiding her eyes, "I suppose this is it."

She took his hand and butterflies exploded in the pit of her stomach. "Yes."

"Thank you for all your help. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Yes."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she blushed. She sounded so arrogant, she thought, he probably thinks I'm a total pig now…

"Well, goodnight."

He took his hand from hers and it was like someone had fired up a switch in Hermione's brain. She started forwards and grabbed his wrist.

"Wait!"

He turned towards her and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Um, can I talk to you after the exam is finished? I'll be waiting underneath the big beech tree by the lake."

For a split second, she thought she saw a smile flicker across his face.

He nodded. "Sure."

* * *

Hermione stood underneath the beech tree by the lake, panicking. She hadn't seen Draco in the Great Hall as he was sat several rows behind her, but she'd only been able to catch a glimpse of his white-blond head as the students left the exam hall. He'd been heading for the Slytherin dorms, and she had half a mind to run back inside before anyone could see her waiting.

The grounds were quiet now, and almost completely deserted. Draco and Hermione were one of a handful of students who had finished early, as most of the seventh years still had their Astronomy exam to come, and so most of the castle was stuck inside the library. All she could see was the mirror-still surface of the lake, a couple of lazy Thestrals swooping overhead, and a faint plume of smoke issuing from the Potions dungeons. She supposed it was Professor Slughorn experimenting again, and guilt prickled at the back of her neck. He'd checked his store cupboard thoroughly after she'd asked him to keep an eye on the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion – and his face had gone so white as she'd asked – and he'd sworn on his mother's life that nothing had been taken from the store cupboard. He'd wagged his finger and told her not to make him worry about things like that again, and then he'd made her _promise_ to come to the next Slug Club supper.

Hermione sighed. Now that her exams were over, she really had no excuse not to skip it.

A faint rustling sound was coming from over her shoulder.

She turned and stared into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Even in the bright sunlight, she could barely see more than a couple of feet into the forest because the leaves were so dense overhead. She squinted.

A dark shape was moving in the trees.

She took a step closer, her wand held high, but saw nothing. There was no sound, no movement, only the black press of leaves and tree trunks pushed tight together.

She was close to the forest now, barely feet from the closest tree trunk. She could feel the cold on her skin and smell the damp earth, and she shivered.

She took one step closer.

A hand lunged out of the darkness and before she had time to so much as flinch, it had snapped her wand in half. The dirty, hairy hand clawed at her wrist, the long fingernails scraping across her skin, and Fenrir Greyback's grinning face loomed out of the darkness.


	28. Chapter 28

I'm back! Don't you just love a good cliffhanger? Peru was awesome - I chased a llama round a lake, climbed some mountains, ate a few alpacas, danced on a bar in Cusco, got lost in several Incan ruins, ate a piece of one of the floating islands on Lake Titicaca, crawled through a 'cursed' Incan tunnel, slid down several sand dunes and was assaulted by two women and a lamb - and that's not even half the stuff I did. SO GOOD. Special thanks to resina, kvance, ChloeTeller2k11, LovelyAshes, InsaniumArtisan, bluebook1496, Leah227, ashyat and snapplexo for the reviews - as always, they are totally appreciated. Please don't feel shy to share your opinions and I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

* * *

Draco stood by the beech tree and waited. The hot sun glared overhead like an angry eye; he could already feel the back of his neck beginning to burn. He glanced at his watch and tried his best to ignore it.

Where was Hermione?

Their last exam had finished almost an hour ago now. She'd never kept him waiting this long before – she seemed to regard lateness as a personal insult and usually did her best to avoid it, or at least send her excuses. But he'd seen nothing of her, and heard nothing from her, and a crawling fear was starting to creep into the pit of his stomach.

This wasn't like her at all.

He looked around the grounds as casually as he could. They were completely deserted – even Hagrid was inside the castle, acting as invigilator for the fifth-years' first OWL. All he could see were a few pale faces at the castle windows, a lone tentacle of the Giant Squid floating lazily on top of the water, and something spitting out sparks next to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Draco blinked.

It was a wand, made of thin, pale wood. It had been snapped completely in half, so badly that the blackened strands of dragon heartstring were frayed at the edges. The tip, however, was still spitting out red and gold sparks every few seconds, and the leaves on which it rested were already beginning to smoulder.

Draco crossed over to the forest and scooped it up.

He knew this wand.

At once, pain raced along his left arm like wildfire. For a few seconds his vision faded and a bloody arm and Hermione's frightened face flashed before his eyes. He crashed to the floor, the ground grinding into his knees, and the edge of the forest returned to his sight again.

He hauled himself to his shaking feet and ran straight to Professor McGonagall's office, still clutching the broken wand.

* * *

Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk and fixed Draco with a look like a steel pin. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the broken wand on her desk. Draco had explained everything to her in a garbled mess of words, ignoring the pain stabbing in his arm as he spoke and forcing the Death Eater's images out of his head. He'd been so distracted that she'd barely believed him – in the end, it had only been the Headmistress's testing of the wand that had convinced her. The second she had verified that it was Hermione's wand, she had thrown a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and called the Auror office.

There was a flash of green in the fireplace and Draco's stomach turned over. All his least favourite people were climbing out of the fireplace: half of the old Gryffindor Quidditch team, a man called Habernathy who'd overseen the prosecution case against his father, Potter and three members of the Weasley family were all brushing ash off their robes and glaring at him suspiciously. Right at the back was Ron Weasley, and as Professor McGonagall explained the situation, his face slowly began to turn the colour of off milk. Habernathy, however, was a different matter. His hands curled into fists as the Headmistress spoke and by the time she had finished, a vein was throbbing in his scarlet temple. The rest of the Aurors were silent, but Potter's green eyes kept darting to the bandages wound around Draco's left arm.

"So Hermione was kidnapped from the school grounds and we have no idea where she could be?" he said, his expression serious.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "From what Mr Malfoy tells me, the visions Greyback has been…er…sending him have not been substantial enough to get a clear location."

Habernathy snarled from his position in front of the fireplace. "So what you're saying," he growled, "is that rogue Death Eaters have had a secret communication channel inside this school and that you have done nothing about it?"

There was complete silence.

Draco got to his feet and faced the Aurors. Their wands were drawn before he could blink – all of them pointed squarely at his chest – but he stared each one of them in the eyes without flinching.

"Mr Habernathy," he said, dragging up all the dignity he could muster as he rolled up his sleeve, "the Death Eaters may have had a channel of communication, but _I_ have not been using it."

The Aurors' eyes fell on the bandages. Ron Weasley's ears went pink, but none of them lowered their wands. Draco ignored them and turned back to Professor McGonagall.

"As far as location goes, Professor, I might be of some help."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows. Draco tried his best not to let the embarrassment burning up his neck show on his face.

"While it's true that I haven't seen an exact location in the visions, I am a little more familiar with Greyback's methods than the rest of you. I'm willing to bet that he's still in the Forbidden Forest."

Everyone in the room stared at him. Habernathy's knuckles whitened on the handle of his wand, Potter swore under his breath and Professor McGonagall's eyebrows had disappeared underneath the brim of her hat.

"And what makes you say that?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Greyback never learned how to use magic. He's never been a part of any wizarding community, and he was never marked with the Dark Mark. He'll be restricted to non-magical means of transportation. It'd be highly unlikely for him to use Muggle transportation and – seeing as he's a werewolf – I don't think any creature would stay around long enough to carry him. No, he'll be travelling on foot – and as the forest goes on for miles, he'll probably still be inside it."

Potter glared at him. "Fine. But how do we find him?"

Draco glared right back. "It'd be no use if any of _you_ went in there looking for him. If Hermione's still –"

Ron's eyes widened. Too late, Draco realised his mistake.

"– if Miss Granger is still with him, he could do serious damage to her at the sight of a group of Aurors. He'll see if you fly overhead on brooms, there's nowhere in the forest you could Floo too, and everyone knows you can't Apparate or Disapparate inside the Hogwarts grounds."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Habernathy snarled, a muscle underneath his eye twitching, "we Aurors have magic you could only dream of. Our disguises would be –"

"Useless," Draco interrupted, smiling coldly, "because Greyback could smell you coming."

Habernathy snarled.

"You need a man on the inside," said Draco, ignoring the Auror's twisting mouth, "someone who Greyback won't attack when he sees them coming. Someone who could go to and from the forest without Greyback getting suspicious, and someone who could tell you his exact location and allow you to plan a surprise attack."

The Aurors exchanged glances. They all looked sceptical, and suddenly Draco felt a stab of anger flare up inside him. After everything he'd said, after everything he'd done, they still didn't believe him…

"Look," he snapped, his temper rising, "I'm going in there whether it's part of your plan or not. You can either choose to take advantage of my information or ignore it. But I'm going after Hermione Granger, and I'm going to bring her back."

"Why?"

It was Weasley who had spoken. His mouth was set into a hard line and his blue eyes were flashing steel. Draco looked at him and faltered. There'd been more rumours in the Prophet again. After they'd been seen together in Hogsmeade on Valentines' Day, people were convinced that Ron and Hermione were dating again. Draco wasn't surprised. He could only picture Hermione dating someone like Weasley – a war hero, an Auror, someone who'd never had a black mark scrawled across his skin. Someone whole and untarnished, not someone like him, not someone whose back was crawling with guilt…

But, as he stared around the silent, expectant room and felt every pair of eyes boring into him, the realisation hit him.

He was far beyond the point where any of that mattered.

He didn't care who she was dating, or who made her heart race, or who was being poked and prodded for the gory details by Rita Skeeter's insistent pen. It would never be him, he knew, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that she was safe and happy. He didn't want anything in return – it would be unfair to ask her that, not when she thought so little of him – but just knowing that she was all right would be enough. And right now – when she was so far from being all right – he knew with absolute certainty that he would do everything in his power to make sure she was safe again.

And that would be enough.

Draco swallowed drily. Everyone was still looking at him, and both Potter and Weasley had disconcertingly shrewd expressions on their faces. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck and tried not to look at Professor McGonagall's raised eyebrows.

"Well," he said, his voice quiet, "she's my tutor."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.


	29. Chapter 29

Next chapter! Hope you guys like it. Special thanks go to LovelyAshes, 4littlemckay, Guest, boothaddict77, togetherforever, JessicaRavenGlade, resina and bluebook1496 for the reviews - they are totally appreciated. Also, apologies if there are any typos in this chapter - I did check through it but I caught a cold on the plane back from Peru so I'm not as sharp as usual. Enjoy!

* * *

Fenrir Greyback was watching her.

Hermione crouched on the twig-strewn ground, her back pressed against a boulder, and stared into the eyes of the werewolf. He'd dragged her right through the Forbidden Forest and out through the other side, his yellowing eyes fixed on her all the time. The gleaming roofs of the castle glowed in the setting sun, but they were specks in the distance, half-hidden by the canopy of leaves. The dark mass of trees pressed in on every side but one, where a steep, rocky hillside crumbled down onto the ground, miles below them.

She knew she could do nothing. She'd been in a few fist fights before, but they'd been petty, trifling little things that had finished in a matter of seconds. Besides, she'd usually lost and she'd never meant to really hurt anyone. She'd never learnt to fight without her wand.

She stared into Greyback's grinning face. He shifted on his haunches, and the severed arm strapped to his back edged into view. Her stomach turned over.

If she tried to escape, Greyback would kill her. She was certain of that.

Greyback unstrapped the arm and pulled it into his lap. His eyes were fixed on the cloth he was unwinding, but she knew that this would not give her enough time to get away. Greyback was strong, and fast – he'd almost pulled her arm off when they were running through the forest – even if she ran now she'd have seconds at best.

There was a rustling sound from somewhere over her shoulder and Greyback's head snapped up. Hermione whirled round, and her heart leapt into her mouth.

Draco Malfoy was coming out of the forest, his hands in his pockets. There was a bored expression plastered across his face, and the Dark Mark was burning on his arm. He cast a vague, disinterested look in Hermione's direction and turned back to Greyback, who had sprung to his feet.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Greyback growled.

Hermione stared up at Draco. He ignored her completely.

"I have to be cautious," Draco drawled, "the school's crawling with the Order and my name's already been marked. It isn't as easy to get away as you might think."

Hermione's heart sank. Was all Draco's repentance simply him 'being cautious'?

Greyback let out a low, growling laugh. "Did they put you in detention, boy?"

Draco ignored him, but Hermione could see a dull flush creep into his cheeks. "I'm curious," he said, eyeing the arm lying in the dart, "how have you been contacting me? You weren't marked."

Greyback grinned. "Dolohov," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the fallen arm, "got it before the Aurors finished him off."

Hermione felt her stomach heave and clapped her hand over her mouth. Greyback grinned at her.

Draco just raised his eyebrows. "Ingenious, I'm sure. But why call me?"

"Head up to the school. Contact the Auror office and tell them I've got the Granger girl. If they don't give me a thousand Galleons and a full pardon I'll keep her with me at the next full moon."

Hermione went cold. She lost her balance and slid down the smooth surface of the boulder, hitting the dirt with a thump. A full moon with Fenrir Greyback…the best she could hope for was that he'd hold back enough so she could live through it…

Draco, however, seemed to register nothing. His face was impassive, and when he spoke, he sounded almost bored.

"And why should I do that?"

Greyback snarled. "Because if you do, I won't rip you in half."

"But the Aurors will. You're asking a lot, Greyback. What's in it for me?"

Greyback's mouth twisted. "Ten percent."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I won't do it for less than thirty."

"You're the messenger boy, Malfoy, you won't get a Knut over fifteen! If you'd answered the call earlier I'd have cut you in!"

For one brief fraction of a second, Draco's cold grey eyes flickered over to Hermione.

"Well," he drawled, "there are moments in everybody's life when they're too weak to stand up for what's right. All I can do is be ready for the next moment to come around and hope that I'll know what to do."

Hermione stared at him. The echo of what she'd said all those months before – on the night they'd almost kissed – was ringing through his words. They weren't her exact words, true, but she knew that he was thinking of that moment in the Room of Requirement when he'd told her what had happened to the Khong family.

It was a message, she was sure of it.

He wasn't there for Greyback after all. He was there for her…

Greyback let out a snort of laughter, and Hermione did her best to keep the hope from showing on her face. She wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Make whatever speeches you like, Malfoy. Not a Knut over fifteen."

Draco let out an irritable sigh. "Fine. Fifteen, but I'm extending the pardon to myself. I won't go to Azkaban for delivering your messages."

Greyback nodded. "You'll do it?"

"Of course."

And with one last, split-second look in her direction, he turned and walked back through the forest.

* * *

The moon was high overhead, grinning down at Hermione and Greyback like a half-finished smile. Usually, Hermione liked to look at the moon – it's clean, silver light was comforting, somehow – but now the sight of it was filling her with dread.

Greyback was bad enough in the daylight. When the sun shone, he was a vicious, cruel man, but now, when the moon was gleaming down on them, he was far worse. He paced around the crumbling hillside like a caged beast, grinning at her all the time, and more than once he'd gone into the forest and come back with a squirming creature clenched in his huge, hairy hands. He'd eat it alive right in front of her, watching to see if she squirmed.

She tried not to, but once or twice she felt tears sliding down her cheeks.

Greyback tossed the last tiny bone over his shoulder and grinned at her.

"You're a very good girl," he growled, "you've been so quiet. The last little girl I met cried for hours. She wasn't like you at all."

He stalked towards her. Hermione got to her feet, ready to run.

"Maybe I'll keep you with me," he said, his voice so low and quiet it was almost a purr, "I think I'd miss you if I sent you away."

Hermione shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet. She stared into Greyback's eyes and knew, without a doubt, that she was going to have to run. Whatever Greyback had planned was not going to end well for her.

She waited, her breath catching in her throat.

Greyback lunged for her. His huge fingers snagged the back of her skirt as she turned. She felt it rip and heard his laughter as she darted into the trees, heart pounding.

She could hear his footsteps pounding after her, and knew she could never outrun him. He was too big, too fast, too familiar with the depths of the cold, dark forest…

There was a flash of light and Hermione dived out of the way. She heard a bang, and Greyback's swearing voice, and the yells of familiar voices. She kept running – lights flashing all around her, casting strange, bright patterns through the leaves – and soon the voices faded.

The trees, however, did not.

She was alone in the Forbidden Forest.


	30. Chapter 30

SURPRISE! I was going to go to bed but then this happened :P Thanks to LovelyAshes and boothaddict77 for the reviews - you guys are really quick off the mark :P please don't be shy to share your opinions, feedback is always appreciated. Hope you all enjoy the chapter!

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Branches snapped across Draco's arms. Leaves whipped across his cheek, and as he hurtled past a pine tree its long, sharp needles scratched across his face. He felt the skin under his eye break and warm blood began to ooze down his cheek.

He had no idea where he was. Once he'd got back to the castle and told the Aurors everything he'd found out, they'd thanked him and sent him back to the Slytherin Common Room. He'd been told in no uncertain terms – and Habernathy had smirked all the time he was saying it – that he was a civilian and should stay inside the castle. Draco had nodded and smiled, and the second the Aurors had headed into the forest he had snuck out of the Slytherin dorms and followed them inside. He'd heard the explosions and seen the lights of curses flashing, but he'd seen nothing else but branches and the shadowy shapes of creatures moving in the forest gloom.

There was a stitch flaring in his side. He staggered over to the base of an enormous yew tree and leaned against it, gasping for breath.

He had to get it together.

It was no good just running round the forest like some idiot Gryffindor, charging in blindly with no real plan. He had to stop and think, or he'd only get himself into trouble. If he was going to be useful to Hermione, he had to calm himself down and come up with a plan.

Something rustled in the leaves. He squinted into the darkness, but saw nothing. He rested his forehead against the scaly bark of the yew tree and forced himself to ignore the creeping, whispering forest.

Hermione was in the forest. He could hear the Aurors fighting off in the distance, but they were too far away for him to hear their voices. If they were fighting Greyback, did that mean that Hermione was safe? Draco knew that if _he_ was an Auror, he wouldn't have even thought about drawing his wand until he was absolutely sure that Hermione was well out of harm's way – but he wasn't an Auror, that twitchy idiot Habernathy was, and Draco wouldn't trust him with his own life, let alone Hermione's. He didn't know where they were – it had taken hours of blindly wandering in the forest to even find Greyback and Hermione in the first place – and he had no idea where he was now.

Something rustled over his shoulder and Draco whirled around. He saw nothing, but something was brushing over the leaves just beyond the edges of his vision. An old fear stirred within him as he remembered a hooded figure from years before, its mouth dripping with silver blood…

He forced his knees to stop shaking. What he needed to do was to find Hermione; he could figure out the rest of his plan from there. He straightened up, squared his shoulders and yelled the last spell he'd only mastered fifteen minutes before his NEWT Charms practical:

"Expecto Patronum!"

An enormous, four-legged silver creature erupted from the end of his wand. Draco recognised it immediately as it settled down before him, and had to suppress a groan at the sight of its huge, furry body. He shook his head, ignoring the embarrassment creeping into his cheeks, and remembered what Hermione had told him. She had said quite clearly that Patronuses could be used to deliver messages…

"Tell Hermione Granger that…that it's going to be all right."

Draco's Patronus bounded off into the darkness, and he went hurtling after it.

* * *

"It's going to be all right."

The silver Patronus spoke the words in the middle of the forest and faded instantly, disappearing in a wisp of pearly smoke. Draco blinked, straining his eyes in the darkness. The forest seemed infinitely darker without it, and now he could barely see a thing.

"Hermione?"

There was a moment of silence. Then, something rustled amongst the leaves and his heart began to race.

"D-Draco? Is that you?"

He stretched out his hand into the blackness. At once, warm, slim fingers grabbed his hand. He felt Hermione's arms wrap around his shoulders as she buried her head in his chest, and soon his arms were around her and his hand was smoothing down her wild hair. She shuddered into his shoulder, too afraid to cry, and even though they were lost in the forest and Greyback was still out there, somehow Draco felt a little safer.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, "it's all right. I'm here."

She was shaking like a leaf in the wind, trembling against him so violently that he couldn't hold her still. She said nothing, but he felt her hands clutch at the back of his shirt, crumpling it up in her clenched fists. Something rustled in the darkness behind them and he felt her flinch against his chest.

"Come on," he said, stroking her hair, "let's go back."

She nodded into his shoulder and slowly – reluctantly, he thought, and a little thrill ran right through him – she let go. Her hand found his in the darkness and squeezed it tightly, and even though the feeling was slowly ebbing out of his fingertips he couldn't make himself let her go. As quietly as he could, he cast the Point-Me spell, and the two of them headed west, where the castle stood waiting for them. They picked their way across the forest floor, clutching each other's hands as their feet snagged on exposed roots and flinching at the sounds of centaurs' hooves, or something dark and nameless slithering across the leaves. Inch by inch, the lights of the castle grew closer, the canopy of leaves over their heads grew thinner and soon the smooth, silver-green lawns of Hogwarts became visible through the fringe of trees.

Hermione broke into a run, pulling him along with her. She turned back to look at him and her face froze.

That was all the warning he had before something slammed into his back.

Draco went flying, falling face-first into the dirt and hitting the ground with a thud. Pain flared all along his stomach, the ground tore open his cheek and his wand flew out of his hand. Greyback's huge, hairy hands clamped around his neck and hauled him upright, lifting him right off the ground. Greyback raised him up to his snarling face, and Draco felt the werewolf's long, jagged nails dig into his neck as he began to squeeze.

"You betrayed me," he growled, "you little snake."

Draco gasped for breath but Greyback's hands were clenched tight around his throat. Lights were beginning to pop at the corner of his eyes. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry, scratching whimper, and Greyback only laughed.

"Put him down."

Greyback turned. His grip loosened the merest fraction and Draco felt air flood into his lungs in a rush. Hermione was standing in front of them, holding Draco's fallen wand and pointing it right at Greyback's face. Her mouth was set into a hard line and her eyes were burning; he'd never seen someone look so furious.

Greyback grinned. "You found your voice then, girlie."

She took a step towards him. "I said, put him down."

Greyback squeezed Draco's throat, still grinning at Hermione, and pain began popping all through Draco's skull. The edges of his vision began to turn black and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione's face whiten.

"Make me," growled Greyback.

Hermione smirked.

"Expelliarmus!"

At once, Draco flew out of Greyback's iron grip as though he had been pulled free. He crashed into the ground, air flooding into his lungs, and looked up just in time to see Greyback's furious, twisted face.

"Why you little –"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Greyback's arms and legs snapped to his sides. His mouth closed, his spine stiffened, and he keeled over onto the forest floor with a deafening crash. With one more wave of Draco's wand, Hermione wrapped the werewolf in ropes and chains, and then she sprinted over to where Draco lay on the ground. She skidded to a halt and fell to her knees as his vision began to fade. She clutched at his hand, pleading with him, but all he could do was try to force a smile as the world around him drifted into blackness.


	31. Chapter 31

New chapter! Special thanks go to 4littlemckay, boothaddict77, LovelyAshes and Leah227 for your reviews - feedback is always appreciated. Don't be alarmed if there's a wait between the next few chapters, all my relatives are descending on my house at once and so I'm not sure when I'll have much time to put up the next one. Hope you enjoy it!

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Hermione sat outside the hospital wing, clutching a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Madam Pomfrey had insisted that she took it, even though she hadn't wanted to. The thought of eating or drinking anything just made her feel sick, but the nurse had insisted.

Draco was lying in one of the beds on the other side of the doors. She'd sat with him for a while, but it hadn't made her feel any better. His face was grey and every time he took a breath she could hear him wheezing. His parents had been called, and a few hours ago she'd seen them push through the doors, their faces white and anxious. She'd left the hospital wing almost as soon as they came in; she knew they wouldn't want her there while they took care of their son. Harry, Ron and the rest of the Aurors were still being debriefed by Habernathy, and so she was alone in the corridor with only her cup of tea for company.

Footsteps echoed down the far end of the corridor and Hermione's head snapped up. A small, dark-haired girl was walking towards the hospital wing. Hermione went back to staring at her tea, expecting the girl to pass her by, but she stopped right in front of her, an anxious expression on her face.

"Um, Hermione? Can I talk to you?"

Hermione looked up. The girl looked young – she couldn't have been more than fourteen – and incredibly nervous. She was wringing her hands and there was sweat sticking to her forehead. Hermione barely had time to register her Slytherin tie before she recognised her: it was Persephone Khong.

She smiled, and patted the chair next to her. Persephone sat down, fiddling relentlessly with the end of her tie.

"There's a lot of rumours going round," she said, speaking into her green and silver tie, "about what happened last night. People are saying Malfoy rescued you from a werewolf. Apparently he punched it so hard he made its ears bleed."

Hermione couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "Well, that last part certainly isn't true. Punching werewolves is never a good idea."

"What about the rest of it?"

Hermione nodded.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

Hermione frowned. Persephone looked distraught. Her dark eyes were wide, her cheeks were pale and she could see the sweat glistening on the palms of the Slytherin girl's hands.

"Persephone, what's wrong?"

Persephone's mouth twisted.

"I've done something really bad. I…I've been sending cursed letters to Draco Malfoy."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Persephone burst into tears.

"Why?"

"I saw you fighting," Persephone wailed, "and he was following you around everywhere and I thought…after what happened to my family…I thought he was threatening you or something and so I sent him the letters so he'd stay away from you but I didn't know he was your friend, I swear, I thought he was going to…"

She dissolved into tears again, sobbing into the palms of her hands. Hermione patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, her mind whirling. Persephone Khong had sent the cursed letters…now she thought about it, it made perfect sense. She certainly had a motive, and as a Slytherin it would have been easy to have slipped the letters into Draco's bag…

"Look," said Hermione, once Persephone's wails had faded into slightly damp-sounding hiccups, "I know you had good intentions, but those letters were a step too far. We're going to have to go to McGonagall about this – oh, don't cry, I'll come with you."

"I just…I just wanted to help you!" Persephone sobbed, dissolving into tears again, and Hermione forced her untouched cup of tea into her hands.

"Here," she said, "you need this more than I do. Drink up, and then go and have a lie down. We'll go and see McGonagall this evening. I'll see you in the Entrance Hall at eight, shall I?"

Persephone nodded and, still hiccupping, made her way down the corridor, clutching Hermione's mug of tea. Hermione leant back in her chair and sighed.

* * *

The afternoon sun was just beginning to fall through the window. Hermione still hadn't been allowed into the hospital wing yet, and the late night was finally taking its toll. Her eyelids were drooping and her head was slowly sinking down onto her chest when she felt someone easing into the chair beside her. She flinched awake, and saw Ron sitting in the chair next to her.

He smiled at her. "You all right?"

She stretched and nodded. "Just about. Pretty tired, but there's no damage done. I'll be OK."

Ron jerked his head back towards the hospital wing. "What about him?"

Colour flooded into Hermione's cheeks. Her hands clenched in her lap.

"I'm not sure. I haven't heard anything."

Ron settled back in his chair. "I see."

For a moment they stared across the corridor. Ron stretched out his long legs and she stared into her hands.

"You know, Malfoy almost got himself arrested. He really pissed off my superior."

"Really? How?"

"He was trying to persuade him to put him on your Auror retrieval team. To be honest, he's lucky Habernathy didn't drag him off to Azkaban after he snuck into the forest."

She said nothing.

"Hermione, I think he fancies you."

Hermione's hands slipped right off her knees. She sat bolt upright, all her tiredness forgotten. "Really? What did he say?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Why are you so interested?"

She went scarlet. Ron let out a long, low whistle.

"Malfoy? Really?"

She nodded.

"You aren't together, are you?"

"No, no. We haven't…no."

"But you're going to?"

She stared into her hands again. "If he's all right."

Ron shook his head. "Malfoy. You and Malfoy. Are you serious?"

She nodded.

"But he's a dick!"

"He isn't, not now. You'd be surprised how much he's changed since you were at school. He's…different now."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Well, he'd bloody better be. You can date whoever you want, Hermione, but if he's still treating you the way he used to you'd need your head examined."

She smiled. "I know."

He sighed. He scooped up his travelling cloak from under his chair and stood up, stretching his long arms over his head.

"Look, just be careful, all right? And if he ever calls you Mudblood again, I want you to promise me you'll hex him until there's tentacles coming out his ears."

She grinned. "I promise."


	32. Chapter 32

OMG you guys. It is the last chapter EVER (unless I decide to write an epilogue). Get your reading glasses out - this one turned out to be a long one. Thank you so much for reading my story, I never expected it to take off like this and it really means a lot that you've chosen to share your opinions. Special thanks go to bluebook1496 and LovelyAshes for the reviews - they are always appreciated. All of this apart from my OCs belongs to JK Rowling (keep forgetting to say that) and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

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Draco sat in the Slytherin Common Room, staring into the fireplace. It was completely empty; everyone else was at the end of term feast. He'd feigned a headache when the other seventh year boys had left, stayed up in the dorms until everyone had gone, and now he had the run of the place to himself. He stared around the green-lit room, at the dark wooden furniture and the green velvet armchairs, and a peculiar sadness started tugging at his stomach. This would be his last night in the Slytherin dorms.

He didn't want to go to the feast. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be welcome there. The news that he had run into the Forbidden Forest and dragged Hermione away from Greyback had been all over the school before he'd regained consciousness. By the time he'd actually woken up, he'd heard at least three conflicting versions: one that said he'd handed Hermione over to Greyback in the first place, one that said he'd been knocked unconscious and that Hermione had carried him, bridal style, all the way back up to the castle after kicking Greyback in the face, and another that said he'd fought his way through a herd of Acromantula to reach her before beating the werewolf in a wrestling match. The last one was his favourite, even though he knew he hadn't heard all the different versions yet.

The upshot of it all was that people were smiling at him again. Things were almost back to the way they were: he wasn't receiving any more letters (and Persephone Khong had been given weekly detentions for the entirety of her next academic year), the seventh year boys were speaking to him again and he no longer had to constantly check his bag to see if anything had been stolen. Just when he was about to leave, things were finally starting to become almost normal again.

But the strange thing was, he wasn't happy.

He hadn't spoken to Hermione since they'd left the Forest. He'd seen her; when he'd left the hospital wing, accompanied by his panic-stricken parents, they'd passed her at the doors. She'd been slumped on the chairs outside, fast asleep, and his father had sneered at her drooping head as he swept past her.

That was when Draco realised that nothing had changed. All the obstacles were still in place. All he had to look forward to now was an empty, dull life under the weight of the Malfoy reputation and the long train ride home tomorrow.

He smiled sadly into the fireplace. He remembered the feel of her hand in his as they crept through the forest, and the way she'd clung to him, and the sight of her sleeping on the chairs outside the hospital wing. She'd waited for him, and the thought made his smile widen.

He knew he'd never see her again, but at least his last memories of Hermione Granger would be good ones.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and early, and Draco was on the train before most of the school had finished breakfast. He'd barely had time for one last look back at the old place from the station platform before the castle doors had opened, the rest of the students poured out and he'd hurried onto the train to find a compartment for himself.

Now, the train was juddering along past huge, rolling forests, his luggage was spread across the seats around him and he was alone in his compartment, staring out the window.

The door slid open. Draco sighed. Probably another first year, come to ask about what it was like to fight a werewolf…

He turned around and his stomach flipped over.

It was Hermione.

She shut the door behind her with a snap and fixed him with a steely glare. "I've been looking for you," she said, her voice cold.

Draco fought to keep the blush crawling up his neck from showing on his face. "Well, you found me."

Hermione glared at him. "I've been looking for you ever since we left the forest. Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been –"

"Yes, you have!" she snapped. "Look, I want to talk to you and you're not getting off this train until you've listened to what I've had to say!"

Draco glared at her and folded his arms. "Well, you'd better get on and say it, hadn't you?"

She strode across the compartment, tipped his luggage off the seat and sat down across from him, still glaring at him.

"Well?" he snapped.

To his astonishment, all the anger flooded out of Hermione's face. Her cheeks turned bright pink, her fingers began twisting themselves together and she seemed to be finding it very difficult to look him in the face.

"Well," she began, her voice far higher than normal, "the thing is…we've spent a lot of time together this year, and it's been really great. You've done a lot of really nice things for me and…and I was wondering if you wanted to meet up in the summer."

He blinked at her. Her last words had left her lips in a tangled rush, and now she was staring at him, her brown eyes wide with hope and anxiety.

"What do you –"

"Oh, isn't it obvious?" she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "I love you, Draco!"

His mouth fell open. There was a split second of silence, and then Hermione's cheeks turned scarlet and she clapped her hand over her mouth looking horror-struck.

"Did you…did you mean to say that?"

"It…it wasn't what I had planned," she whispered.

Draco stared at her. Hermione Granger, with her tumbling brown curls and her gleaming eyes, was in love with him. She _loved_ him, and the thought was swelling in his chest like a balloon…

But then he remembered. All the obstacles were still in place, and nothing Hermione said or did could change that. His parents would still hate her, he wouldn't be able to get a job to support her and she'd have to give up all her friends and family to be with him…no, he couldn't ask her to do that.

"Look, Hermione," he said, running a hand through his hair, "it'd never work between us. I'm not much better than a criminal, there's no way I could get a job after what I did. My family would never accept you and I don't think your friends would accept me. You'd have to turn your back on everything you have to be with me, and I don't want you to do that."

All the colour drained out of Hermione's face. She pressed her lips together, and Draco could see tears glistening in her eyes.

"You don't feel the same, then?"

"It's not that, it's not that at all! I've been falling for you since –"

"Then why does any of that matter?" she burst out, her voice cracking.

"Because I can't give you the things you want!" he snapped, "I don't want you to throw your life away because of me! You deserve someone…someone you don't have to give things up for."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

"Okay," she whispered.

Then, she got to her feet and left, closing the compartment door behind her.

* * *

The train groaned to a halt as it pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters, the brakes squealing loudly and the engine hissing. Draco scooped up his luggage and left the compartment, fighting his way through the crowd of students trying to get onto the platform. He staggered down off the train and saw his mother and father, waiting on the platform with an empty luggage trolley. He returned his father's brief, one-armed hug and turned to his mother, who was already holding out her arms. The moment she saw his face she stopped, her eyes wide with concern.

"Draco, darling, whatever is the matter?"

He smiled quickly, but he knew she wasn't convinced. "It's nothing, Mother," he said, stepping forward for another hug, "let's go home."

They wheeled the trolley towards the gateway into the Muggle world – Draco saw his father wrinkling his nose – and passed through it. The sanitised surfaces of the Muggle train station materialised into view, and Draco saw Hermione.

He froze.

She looked pale, and even though he was at least a hundred yards away from her he could see that she'd been crying. A woman with grey-brown hair had her arm around Hermione's shoulders – her mother, Draco supposed – and the pair of them were heading towards the station doors.

Once she passed through them, he would never see her again.

The full force of the realisation slammed into him like an oncoming train. He would never see her again, _never_. After what he'd said she'd never come and find him again, even though she loved him. He'd never see her brown eyes shining up at him, or her long curls spilling over her arms as she slept, and the thought was making him feel sick.

"Draco? Are you all right?"

His mother's voice seemed to be coming from the other end of a very long tunnel. Slowly, he began to walk forward as if he was in a daze, his feet tripping over each other. He walked faster and faster, his eyes fixed on the back of Hermione's head and soon he was running after her, elbowing his way through the crowds of people.

It wasn't enough any more.

He couldn't just go back to his old life, not now. If he left her alone there was a chance that she'd forget him, move on and be happy, but not even her happiness could comfort him now. It wasn't enough that she would be happy – no, he wanted to be the one who _made_ her happy… And even if it all went horribly wrong at least he would have had his chance, and that would be far better than letting her pass through that gate and leave him behind…

"Hermione!"

He hurtled past the Weasleys so fast they were barely more than a flame-red blur. He sprinted past Persephone Khong and darted around Charlie Jackson, whose heads turned to follow him as he passed. He ignored them all and kept running, weaving through the crowd, his legs moving so fast he could barely feel them any more.

"Hermione!"

She was feet from him.

She stopped as he skidded to a halt in front of her, almost crashing into her mother. He clutched onto her luggage trolley and gasped for breath, clutching a stitch in his side.

"Draco, what –"

Still gasping for air, he straightened up. Hermione's eyes were still red.

"Don't go," he whispered.

He reached out for her. Her fingers brushed against his. She was smiling now, her eyes wide from disbelief and joy, the last traces of her sadness gone. She was radiant, glowing, and as she settled into his arms it felt like a light had been switched on inside him. His hand fitted into hers like a glove, her body slotted into his embrace like she was born to be there and as she looked up at him, her eyes shining will tears and joy, he knew that he never wanted to let her go again.

Her lips were parted. She closed her eyes, and he bent down and kissed her.

He could hear the clicking of a camera from somewhere close by. The shocked voices of his parents were barely audible over the noise of the crowd, and wolf-whistles were ringing in on all sides, but Draco didn't care. He felt alive for the first time in months, and the crowd could scream its heart out for all he cared. He was kissing Hermione Granger, and her lips were the softest, sweetest things in the world, and he never wanted it to end.

They broke apart and she grinned up at him, her whole face alight. Out of the corner of his eyes Draco could see his parents' pale faces. Behind them, Potter was gawping at the pair of them while Weasley sniggered uncontrollably, and dancing his way through the crowd was a photographer from the Daily Prophet with Rita Skeeter in hot pursuit.

But none of that mattered.

He grinned guiltily down at Hermione and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be," she laughed.

"Do you…do you want to go and get some coffee, or something?"

Hermione glanced quickly at her mother, who rolled her eyes and nodded, clearly fighting back a smile.

"Okay," she said.

She slipped her hand into his, and together, they left King's Cross station and stepped out into the bright summer afternoon.


End file.
